


Somewhere Along the Way

by flimsycoats



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cysithea, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, lysithea von ordelia is bad at feelings, other fe3h characters are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsycoats/pseuds/flimsycoats
Summary: He doesn't think he deserves her. She doesn't want him to get hurt.orCyril and Lysithea both have feelings for each other, but neither of them are brave enough to put their friendship on the line.
Relationships: Cyril & Lysithea von Ordelia, Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 23
Kudos: 33





	1. sparse across the mid-afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> today, i offer you a fluffy cysithea one-shot —  
> tomorrow, who knows?
> 
> university au because why not owo  
> might write more of this soon! anyways, enjoy! <33
> 
> edit: i'm turning this into a mini-fic! heck yes for soft cysithea <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was silly—he knew, because if he's learned anything about Lysithea from their mutual friends (namely Claude and Hilda), it's that she was never really interested in anything that didn't involve studying; much less dating.
> 
> So Cyril did what he was always good at: pining for something that was out of his reach.”

“Cyril! Hey! Can you focus for just one  _ damn _ second? Our midterms are next week!”

The male in question snaps away from his trance, eyes blinking warily as he stares at the white-haired girl sitting across from him. It was fall; the café they were in was decorated with various halloween ornaments, some sparkly and some dim, highlighting the nooks and crannies of the joint. There were faux autumn leaves hung sloppily on the walls too, accentuating the aforementioned season even more.

With an exhale, Cyril shakes his head.

“I'm listening, sheesh. Just got lost in thought thinking about the timetable for next week, ya know?” He buries his head in his arms after. His friend, who was now in the middle of formulating an argument in her head, sighs in distress.

“You said that an hour ago! If you don't want to study properly, then why'd you even ask me out?” She replies. The gravity of her words seemed to not dawn on her yet, but the way she worded out her rhetorical question had sent waves and waves of warmth to Cyril's cheeks.

“Ask you.. W-What—!” He stutters out, hiding his embarrassment by raising his mug of hot chocolate to cover the lower part of his face. “I mean—Lysithea! Stop!” With a groan, Cyril places his mug down on the table, his head voluntarily dropping to the wooden surface with a thud.

This immediately sends Lysithea laughing, clutching her violet pen tightly as she tries to regain her composure. She wipes away imaginary tears from the corner of her eyes, soon clearing her throat and readying herself to speak once more.

“Come on already, just one last chapter for Trigo and we can move on to the next textbook!”

Cyril slowly raises his head, his eyes peering at Lysithea, who was now enamored by their study sheets. His red optics scan her carefully; his eyebrows arching up as his stare suddenly flickers to her lips.

They'd been friends for a while now; around six or seven months. The both of them were students at Garreg Mach State University—they were in their third year now, but they had only met each other this year because they shared a couple of classes together. With Lysithea being a Chemical Engineering major, and Cyril being an Architecture major, most of their math courses overlapped.

At first, they weren't really friendly with each other, seeing as the female was always too focused on studying, and Cyril was usually too asleep to participate in class. Lysithea had always scolded him for doing so—even when they weren't close friends, mind you—and Cyril always slept through her nagging. Eventually, Cyril asked for Lysithea's number and initiated study sessions, with his reasoning being he “understood” better when it was Lysithea who was teaching him.

That was half true.

Cyril soon averts his gaze to his own textbook, the red on his cheeks deepening even more as he mentally nagged himself for staring longer than necessary. Lysithea didn't seem to notice, though, which was a good thing.

Okay, maybe Cyril  _ did _ have a thing for his unconventional friend. But it was probably because Lysithea was unnecessarily pretty and cool; always, always pulling Cyril towards her like some kind of magnetic force that he couldn't control. It was silly—he knew, because if he's learned anything about Lysithea from their mutual friends (namely Claude and Hilda), it's that she was never really interested in anything that didn't involve studying; much less dating.

So Cyril did what he was always good at: pining for something that was out of his reach. He had always wondered what it would feel like to have her fingers entwined with his own—would it feel warm? Were her hands cold? He didn't really care for the most part, as he just wanted to try holding onto it. He had also wondered several times what it would feel like to kiss her on the lips. Lysithea had always complained about her lips drying up during the cold season—and since winter was fast approaching, Cyril could see the cracks in her lips even if it was glossed with tinted lipstick.

He gets lost in a daze once again.

_ Pretty. _ He thinks to himself.  _ Lysithea's really pretty. _

“So,” Lysithea starts, with her eyes plastered on Cyril. “Should we go over this formula again, or are you good to go?”

Cyril ignores her, raising a curious brow as he places his chin atop his palm nonchalantly. The female only tilts her head in confusion.

“Hey, Lysithea.” Cyril speaks, gentle and careful, with his lips curving up to a small smile. “You're pretty cute.”

The female freezes up in her place instantly, with red tainting her usually pale cheeks upon registering Cyril's comment in her brain. She drops her pen on the table, her hands closing and opening slightly as she stumbles on the words to say.

All Cyril could do was chuckle lightly, his eyes closing momentarily as he processed the look on his friend's face.

In truth, it was times like these that made Cyril even more riddled with utter confusion because he thought, that  _ maybe, _ Lysithea  _ could _ like him back. Somehow. Call him stupid and whipped for getting his hopes up, but he didn't really care. The longer those thoughts lingered in his mind, the more entranced he became; albeit he probably didn't deserve her, but he was still allowed to dream quietly, right?

As soon as his eyes flutter open, Lysithea was pouting, with her eyebrows furrowed angrily at him. She picks up her pen afterwards, placing it on her ear as she tucks away a few loose strands behind.

Cyril blinks.

_ Maybe she likes me. _

“You know, Cyril.” Lysithea clears her throat, leaning forward. “I also think you're pretty..”

Cyril purses his lips into a thin line. Expectantly, he cuts her off. “Cute?”

“No. Annoying.” Lysithea sighs after, her hands reaching out to ruffle his brown hair.

_ Or maybe not. _

He chuckles lightly, and he takes her hand into his, pushing it away gently and laying it on the table. He doesn't miss the way her eyes linger on his touch curiously, but Cyril decides not to bring it up.

With a satisfied hum, Cyril straightens his posture to finally resume reading his Trigo reviewer.

_ Warm. _

The red leaves from the trees outside the quaint coffee shop fall to the ground in sync, and the cold Autumn breeze slips through the slits of the windows.

Cyril exhales.

_ Her hands are warm. _


	2. but you are beautiful like i've never seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He stands up, his hand slowly getting further away from Lysithea's grasp the more steps he took towards her door. Lysithea's gaze lingers on her friend's back, but when he turned around one last time to wave goodbye—she refused to meet his stare.”

Lysithea had always liked things a certain way. Not because she was overly organized—it's just that she likes arranging things systematically, to make it somewhat easier for herself, and for others; besides, making lists was one of her hobbies, anyway. Books? She'd be down to shelf them in order, no matter how many. You need to restock on pens? Well, Lysithea has a list of good brands, and as well as a list of stores you can go to. Need someone to show you the best pastries in town? Lysithea writes dessert reviews during her free time—just hit her up, and she'll wax poetic about the worthy (and budget-friendly!) bakeries near their University.

Chemistry, trigonometry, physics, and other things came easy to her; always logical, always proper. She knew where to start and she knew how to finish her endeavors. Reading people was particularly easy for her as well—as easy as it can be, at least.

But it's been almost a year, and she still hasn't figured Cyril out. At all.

Sure, her peculiar friend was straightforward and upright—always saying whatever was on his mind, not really caring if it was going to affect other people. And sure, he valued honesty and hardwork, among others. However, those were just surface-level traits of his—other than them, she understood very little about the male—especially since his actions became more uncertain the more their friendship progressed. Over time, though, she's come to realize that apart from his brutal honesty and hardwork, he also had this devastating amount of strive. And quite frankly, his dedication to certain things was remarkable, but Lysithea had always wondered what was keeping him determined.

Well, “determined” was a stretch, seeing as he was usually asleep during their shared classes—but Lysithea gave him the benefit of the doubt anyway.

“ _ Ouch! _ Stop pulling so hard, Lysithea!” The male shrieks, bursting Lysithea out of her own little bubble as she flinches upon hearing his voice. With a heavy sigh, she flicks Cyril's earlobe lightly, soon relaxing her shoulders.

Cyril lets out a groan.

“Still don't get why you're braiding my hair. It's not like the hair is part of the Professor's criteria, ya know.” Said male mumbles, more to himself than to Lysithea. She only hums as a response, delicately knotting up his brown locks together.

During their previous geometry study session, Cyril had mentioned something about a skit that he was required to perform in his Art History subject. Lysithea, being the endearing overachiever that she was, had hastily sworn to Cyril that she'd be helping him out even though she wasn't in his Art History class. With a wide, wide grin on her lips, she tells Cyril to meet her in her dorm room two hours before his performance—and the brunette  _ really _ couldn't say no to Lysithea, especially since she looked overwhelmingly cute whenever she was excited.

“It adds to your charm!” She exclaims, another smile growing apparent on her face as she takes a piece of hair tie out from her pocket. Meekly, Cyril rolls his eyes, soon drooping. Lysithea watches him through the mirror, taking in the sight of him wearing his costume. Currently, he was wearing a white tunic, with gold linings embellished on its collar—he had a dark green coat draped over his shoulders, and upon seeing it earlier, Lysithea had taken a mental note that the shoulder pads had made his shoulders look broader than it was; finally, to top off his ensemble, Lysithea had dragged him earlier in front of her dresser and forced him to take a seat, claiming that a few braids in his hair was the last thing he needed to look complete.

“ _ Adds _ ?” Cyril rolls his eyes, his hands slowly making its way inside his coat's pockets. The corners of his lips tug up to form a grin, and upon realizing what Lysithea had said, she groans.

“Huh. So, correct me if I'm wrong, but you're implying that I'm already charming on my own?” He snickers to himself as he glances at Lysithea through the mirror. The aforementioned female had a small scowl on her newly flushed face, her ears reddening by the second, soon turning away to face the wall.

She pulls his hair a little harder than necessary.

“Hey!” Cyril winces. “That was intentional!”

Lysithea merely shrugs.

“Oh, did that hurt the little prince charming?” She coos at him, her eyebrows knitted together as she continues to braid his hair. “Sorry. I thought you liked it judging by the sounds you let out whenever I do that!” Cyril blinks in confusion as soon as Lysithea finishes talking—and if Lysithea knew anything about Cyril, it was probably because he was about to feel embarrassed.

But instead of his usually flushed expression, he cocks up a brow.

_ Oh no.  _ Lysithea swallows the lump that was gradually forming in her throat.  _ This is going to backfire on me. _

“Hey. Are you almost done braiding my hair? Art History starts in twenty minutes, ya know. And the building's ten minutes away from your dorm room,”

It was now Lysithea's turn to blink in confusion.

“Oh, right, I'm almost done.”

She shakes her head.  _ Maybe he didn't hear it. _

With a relieved sigh, Lysithea focuses on the task at hand. She was nearly finished with the last braid—after so, she was just going to add on some hairspray and a few clips, and she'd be sending Cyril away.

Unknowingly, a frown falls on Lysithea's lips, and Cyril was quick to note the sudden change in her composure.

In truth, Lysithea was trying to take her mind off of the joke she made earlier, but it proved to be a much harder task than she had anticipated. It was just  _ frustrating— _ he was usually cool with her teasing him, and vice versa; so his blatant avoidance had left Lysithea wondering if she somehow crossed the line this time by joking about an innuendo.

He was usually upright—straightforward, honest, and outspoken; so what in the world did she say wrong that deemed her worthy of Cyril's silence? Lysithea could only scoff inwardly.

“Heya, Lysithea—” Cyril clears his throat. “You, uh, okay?”

She snaps.

“Your hair is soft, okay—!” The female blurts out; puffing out her cheeks as soon as her sudden outburst toned down. She ties the last piece of the braid, hastily grabbing her hairspray from her countertop, and quickly adding it onto Cyril's hair.

Everything was happening too fast—and before Cyril could even register what was going on, Lysithea was already dragging him outside her room.

“Woah, woah, wait—stop!” Cyril shrieks once again, a knowing smile on his face as he pulls Lysithea towards his chest. Said female lets out a small scream as soon as she collides with him, her hands immediately reaching out to cover her face as if on instinct.

“What's this about my hair now?”

Lysithea turns around; now, she was facing Cyril's chest, and her fists were clenched to her sides. With a heavy sigh, she readies herself.

“I—uh, said..” The white-haired female stutters out. “Your hair is really soft. And I keep absent-mindedly tugging it.” 

She hears skin slapping skin, and once she looks up, she sees Cyril's palm atop his head. Pinballs of sweat begin to cascade from her forehead, shuddering slightly in place as she awaited for his reaction.

“Is this about earlier?” He questions, a small smile on his face as he dusts off his tunic. Lysithea nods curtly, soon crossing her arms as she huffs, walking past Cyril and plopping onto her bean bag.

“You didn't say anything!” Lysithea exclaims, an exasperated look soon growing apparent on her facial expression. The airconditioner in her dorm room was slowly losing effect the longer her door stayed open, but she didn't really mind, because at least she'd have an excuse if ever Cyril asked her why her face was so red. “I thought you took offense to what I said, or something!”

Gods, this was so frustrating—especially because Lysithea usually didn't care about what other people thought of her.

But somehow, somewhat, she cared about what Cyril had to say.

The air whistles around them loudly, and soon, Cyril takes a few steps forward, kneeling down to pat Lysithea on her head. The female only sucks in the insides of her cheeks, her shoulders relaxing instantly. 

“I'll bring over some cakes after my classes to make up for it, yeah?” Cyril snickers. “Consider it an apology gift  _ and _ a thank you gift. For the braids, and stuff.”

He stands up, his hand slowly getting further away from Lysithea's grasp the more steps he took towards her door. Lysithea's gaze lingers on her friend's back, but when he turned around one last time to wave goodbye—she refused to meet his stare.

Maybe it was the aggravation of  _ still _ not being able to figure him out after almost a year of being friends, or maybe it was because she knew she was starting to feel something outside of the platonic feelings she harbored for the male.

Whichever of the two, all she knew is that as soon as Cyril left her dorm—Lysithea had a frown plastered on her lips; unsatisfied, even with the red on her cheeks.

The airconditioner in her room whistles loudly, still, but somehow, all she could hear was the organ inside her chest beating quicker than usual—and she despised it.

Lysithea; always logical, always proper—she knew this was a start, but for the first time in her life, she didn't quite know where the finish line was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter >:D lysithea pines ! anyways i will go down w this ship methinks
> 
> let me know what you think in the comments ! uwu hope u enjoyed !!


	3. maybe i could

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cyril has never liked winter.
> 
> He's always favored spring because of the flowers, and because the temperature was just right for napping. Sure, winter had its perks—such as having an excuse to hug a certain Chemical Engineering friend of his more often—but it wasn't as welcoming when compared to the other seasons. The weather was just too.. harsh. Bitter, lonely, and cold; and truth be told, winter had greatly reminded Cyril about how alone he truly was; and how at the end of every day, he had no family to come home to; no loved ones to open presents with during fuzzy Christmas mornings.”

“So, green or red? What do you think?”

Cyril nods to himself as soon as Lysithea finishes her query. With a mindful gaze, he imagines Lysithea wearing both the dresses, and soon—he snaps his fingers together; a decisive grin settled onto his expression.

“Green. Definitely green.”

The female mumbles a weak “thank you” and heads to the dressing room at the back of the boutique. He follows after her suit. Soon, he settles on one of the chairs situated in front of the dressing rooms; and once the brunette starts to feel comfortable enough, he extends his left arm out—reading the time on his wristwatch.

Currently, it was nearly 3 in the afternoon, and Cyril was helping out Lysithea with her outfit for the Christmas party they were going to attend next week. It was just a small party hosted by a couple of their mutual friends; Hilda, one of Lysithea's closest friends, and Sylvain—Cyril's dorm neighbor. The event was scheduled on the 22nd of December. The venue was at one of Hilda's personal penthouse. Cyril was almost 80% sure that the place would end up looking like a shitstorm seeing as both Caspar and Raphael were invited (Cyril only knew them because those two were always causing trouble in parties)—and he'd also heard from somewhere that Flayn (pure, innocent Flayn) was going to attend! If the Dean found out that his one and only daughter attended a party that involved spiked eggnogs and kissing games, they were all going to be  _ fucked. _

At this, Cyril could only release a disgruntled sigh.

Then, he takes a deep breath, rubbing his palms together—with the cold sending shivers down his spine subsequently after. It was already winter; he seemed to keep forgetting that. If he had remembered, then he would be wearing gloves right now, and probably another layer of clothes. The autumn leaves from last season were still very much scattered across the cemented pavements in the streets of Fódlan, although they were covered by pounds and pounds of thick white snow.

Cyril has never liked winter.

He's always favored spring because of the flowers, and because the temperature was  _ just _ right for napping. Sure, winter had its perks—such as having an excuse to hug a certain Chemical Engineering friend of his more often—but it wasn't as welcoming when compared to the other seasons. The weather was just too.. harsh. Bitter, lonely, and cold; and truth be told, winter had greatly reminded Cyril about how alone he truly was; and how at the end of every day, he had no family to come home to; no loved ones to open presents with during fuzzy Christmas mornings.

He used to have Shamir and Catherine, but when he moved out as soon college came bursting through his door, that period of his life had hastily reached a conclusion. That thought alone had always saddened him even more.

But, anyway.

“What do you think?” With a twinkle in her eyes, Lysithea comes out of the dressing room, beaming with excitement as she twirls around all the while wearing a repulsive, green, candy cane themed dress.

Right. The theme for this year's party was “Ugly Christmas.”

Cyril manages to release a warm chuckle, crossing his arms as he nods approvingly at the female. She only rolls her eyes, though, soon turning towards one of the many, many mirrors present in the area. She narrows her eyes at the patterns of the dress, placing both her hands on her waist.

The brunette gulps. Only Lysithea could look cute with ugly Christmas clothes.

“I guess this is as repulsive as it gets.” She shrugs. “Or maybe the red one is better? It had this weird distorted version of Santa on it!”

Cyril was close to clutching his chest in hopes of forcing his heart to stop beating too damn fast.

“Nah,” Cyril turns his head to the side; soon running his fingers through his hair. “That didn't even look like Santa. Lin might call you out and say you're not sticking to the dress code, or some shit.” Although his explanation was brief, it actually made a lot of sense to Lysithea, surprisingly enough; so she dropped it.

Cyril snorts as soon as an idea pops into his head, however, breaking the silence that had captured the two.

“You know what you should add?” The male begins, catching Lysithea's attention; she half-heartedly nods, urging him to continue. He had expected her to do so, actually, seeing as she was as competitive as ever even when it came to unimportant things. Sure, getting the title “Best Dressed” at an Ugly Christmas party didn't really sound very appealing, but the specifics never really mattered to Lysithea.

Other people found it too much. Cyril loved it.

“You should get a  _ really _ big ribbon and tie it over your waist. Like a belt.”

Something inside Lysithea was ignited, and suddenly, she was back inside the dressing room she was in earlier—pulling out her purse in a haste. Cyril watches her inquisitively, before soon feeling his jaw drop to the floor as Lysithea took out something from her handheld.

It was a really, _ really, _ long ribbon.

“I thought the same thing earlier!” With a mischievous smile, she shoves the red towards Cyril, turning her back at him. And with his jaw still left agape, he stares at the ribbon, and then Lysithea's back, and then the ribbon again—it went on like that for a couple of seconds. But, reluctantly, he began wrapping the silk item around her waist.

As expected, the bright shade of red didn't mix well with the muted colors of her dress. With a satisfied hum, Lysithea holds a thumbs up, before soon adjusting the fake belt.

“Well, whaddya know?” He says nonchalantly. “We're two halves of a whole idiot.”

Lysithea grins.

“Or maybe great minds  _ do _ think alike.”

Cyril knew his cheeks were warm because of Lysithea's indirect compliment, but he made himself believe that it was because of the cold, cold winter air.

“What are you going to wear to the party, anyway?” Lysithea questions while unraveling the ribbon, soon getting ready to get changed into her clothes from earlier so she could finally pay for the dress. She tucks the ribbon neatly inside her purse again, venturing towards her stall after so. Cyril sits himself down on his chair from earlier.

“Eh, I don't know yet. I'll wear what I wore at last year's party.” During Hilda and Sylvain's previous Christmas bash, Cyril had ironically worn this unusually ugly Christmas sweater embedded with Christmas lights on the front, and strangely hairy reindeers. He snorted at the thought of reusing his same outfit from last year—but he figured Lysithea wouldn't really know about it, since they had only met this year; he'll have to look forward to seeing the expression on her face.

“Oh, the reindeer one with the lights?” He hears her chuckle echo from inside the dressing room. “Yeah, everyone's going to get a kick out of that again.”

“Yeah, exactly—!” Cyril pauses. “Wait, what? How do you know about that?”

“Huh? I was there last Christmas party, you know!” Lysithea huffs audibly, and judging from her tone of voice, Cyril knew she was already pouting her ass off. “I mean, we weren't friends then, but I thought it was funny when you started dancing  _ unironically _ to All I Want for Christmas.” With a groan, Cyril starts to recollect about that one particular moment during last year's party.

However, one memory had led to another—now, he had suddenly recalled something Claude mentioned last year.

_ “Come on,” Claude rolls his eyes for the nth time, taking a sip out of his half-empty mug of spiked eggnog. “You don't find anyone interesting? Even Dorothea? Dorothea's pretty cute!” _

_ A sigh escapes Cyril's lips. He leans on the counter for support, before soon shaking his head. “Sorry. Really not looking for anyone. I just came here because I thought it'd be fun not to spend Christmas alone this year, ya know?” _

_ “Well, if you talked to someone, you won't be spending Christmas alone next year!” Claude lets out a hefty laugh, putting his mug down and placing an arm across Cyril's shoulder. “How about her? She's really smart, and hardworking! You two would get along.” _

_ The older male points at a female sitting across from the oh-so-popular Lorenz from the (lowkey pretentious) Business Management department. She had pink eyes, pale skin, long, white hair that reached the lower half of her back, and furrowed eyebrows that seemed to convey enough about the frustrating situation she was presumably in. She looked particularly unsatisfied for someone at a party—Cyril could faintly hear her arguing with Lorenz and a seemingly intoxicated Ferdinand. _

_ But the ghost of a smile grows evident on her face a few seconds later, and Cyril unknowingly ingrains it into his head; it was vibrant, eye-catching, and.. _

_ Beautiful. Her smile was beautiful—and that alone was enough reason for Cyril to pry his stare away from her. _

_ “Nah. I'll pass. I just want to enjoy the party for now.” _

_ Claude shakes his head out of sheer worry. “Yeah, okay. Fair enough. But maybe you can try making friends, at least? So you won't have to cling onto a party next Christmas.” _

_ A hint of curiosity strikes Cyril's system. He pats Claude on his arm, parting from the male and making his way to get more drinks. Before Cyril left, however, he replied to Claude half-heartedly,  _

_ “Maybe I could.” _

Cyril shakes his head, snapping away from his trance, his hair swaying along to the motion of his head. Sighing quietly to himself, he breaks away from his daydreams.

He's been doing that an awful lot lately.

“Right. I guess I didn't see you last year.” As if on cue, Lysithea exits the stall she was in, her white hair now tied up in a high ponytail. Cyril keeps his eyes plastered to the floor after catching a glimpse of how she looked, afraid that he'd get caught staring.

“You're acting weird.” Lysithea mentions, crossing her arms as her right hand clutched the hanger of the dress she was about to pay for. “You okay?”

Cyril musters out a low affirmative hum—soon gesturing for Lysithea to follow him to the cashier. It was nearly 3:30 now, and he was pretty sure that Lysithea would start craving for some afternoon sweets any second now. Fortunately, the boutique they were in was directly in front of the coffee shop the two of them frequented in. 

“Any plans for the 25th?” The shorter one asks meekly, an expectant tone present in her voice. She peeks at Cyril through the corner of her eyes.

“Not that I know of.” Cyril lets out a yawn, scanning the people in the store. Since it was a week before Christmas, more and more people were out and about, searching for presents to give to their loved ones, Cyril could only assume.

Laughter was heavily present whichever way he turned to. A sigh. Maybe he really was the only one who disliked the holiday season.

“Oh, same.” Lysithea grunts. She scrunches her nose, before soon perking up as if she had just thought of something bizarre. She waits for them to fall in line in front of the cashier, and when they do, she calls out Cyril's name with a genuine smile.

The said male was really about to faint if she kept looking at him like that.

“You could come over to my dorm on the 24th—we can eat take-out and watch Christmas movies all night, or something!” When she finished talking, there was already a smile on Cyril's lips—and it was the kind of smile that made Lysithea's heart practically leap out from her chest, too, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

_ Cyril has never liked winter. _

“Yeah.” He pulls her closer to him by the waist. “Maybe I could.”

_ But maybe it was bearable this year. _


	4. these arms are all i have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She's convinced herself time and time again that she didn't really mind; and that solitude was also somewhat as good as having company—and, besides! If she was alone, she wouldn't have to waste her precious, precious time, which was convenient for her; because she wouldn't have to watch as her food grew cold while she was waiting for someone, or she wouldn't have to spend hours on a train station waiting for her companion to meet her. Above all else, Lysithea von Ordelia valued her time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible trigger warnings:  
> mentions of death, mourning, signs of depression/relapse

It was a given fact that Lysithea didn't have a lot of close friends.

Sure, she had Hilda, Claude, and Annette, somewhat—but the three still had their respective friend groups; circles that Lysithea was personally not a part of, so she usually had to spend her time in university alone. She's convinced herself time and time again that she didn't really mind; and that solitude was also somewhat as good as having company—and, besides! If she was alone, she wouldn't have to waste her precious, precious time, which was convenient for her; because she wouldn't have to watch as her food grew cold while she was waiting for someone, or she wouldn't have to spend hours on a train station waiting for her companion to meet her. Above all else, Lysithea von Ordelia valued her time.

But, still, it gets lonelier everyday.

During her first and second year as a college student, she usually ate lunch alone in isolated coffee shops just so nobody would be able to see her there and make assumptions. No close friends to dine with everyday, no close friends to shop with, no close friends to study with—basically, she just felt unusually alone for someone who was surrounded by a lot of people who claimed that they cared about her.

So when Cyril came barging through her life, offering her friendship and pastries, she clung onto it selfishly, and the hope inside her previously dim chest had been reignited again. Lysithea ended up being good friends with him, too, which she was happy for. But expressing her feelings of adoration for the male had never been easy for her; because sure, she did a lot of talking when they were hanging out, and sure, Cyril was honest and kind enough not to judge her if ever she did decide to open up—but something uncertain always swirled rapidly inside her system, and it hindered her from ever confiding in him, even if he had reassured her time and time again that she could always lean on him for support; because they were friends.

Now, Lysithea wasn't so sure if she had much of a choice.

She'd been absent for a couple of days; which was definitely unusual for Cyril. They've been friends for a year, and Lysithea never once skipped class even if she was sick. So when Cyril attended both his Trigonometry class and his Geometry one and his oh-so-intelligent white-haired friend wasn't anywhere to be found among the rows and rows of seats? He knew something was wrong. Even as he sat comfortably on the mahogany chairs inside the room, he was uneasy; lost in a trail of worry, wondering if he should message or call or visit her dorm. Was she even in her dorm? Maybe she was out. Cyril decided then that if Lysithea would still be absent the next day—then he'd definitely have to go down to her dorm and visit. It made him anxious. And frankly, all that was going through his head that afternoon was the hope that she was okay, and maybe she was just having a lazy day. Even though that was a long shot.

But she never did come to class—it's been two days, and the great Lysithea von Ordelia still hasn't graced them all with her presence.

“Lysithea?” Cyril knocks a couple of times on her dark brown door. In GMSU, you were free to decorate your interiors to your heart's content; the other doors in the dorm building were all decorated with silly stickers and ironic signs that usually told a lot already about the tenants residing there—but Lysithea's door was kept almost the same; dark oak, with a few silver paint highlighting the lines and curves of her door. It was simple, sure, and it looked like something a grown-up would have, which made sense to Cyril, considering that Lysithea was known to be slightly insecure of her age.

“Uh, you haven't been in class in two days.” Meekly, he decides to plaster his gaze to the floor, the plastic bag filled with tarts and cupcakes still in hand. “I brought you some sweets. Can I come in?”

To say that Lysithea didn't expect Cyril to come over and make sure she was okay was the understatement of the year. The female had been locked up in her room, sulking, sad to her core because of some things in her past that she could no longer keep bottled up. Her room was a  _ mess. _ Sure, it wasn't that clean before, since there were books all over the place—but now it just looked generally untidy.

She was a mess, too. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were swollen; her hair was dry already because she couldn't find the strength to get up from bed and take a shower—let alone cook or make tea. She was starving, dehydrated, sleepless, and nearing the brink of absolute exhaustion if she kept this up.

With a panicked expression, Lysithea hastily stumbles inside her dorm, cleaning up the tissues on the floor and hiding the pictures she was viewing inside one of her living room drawers. Her usually shiny floor had been tarnished with dirt and dust; the walls of her dorm were still pretty much the same; save for the spider webs gradually growing present in between the corner of her wall and ceiling.

Her mirror was a dead giveaway, too, seeing as it had been smashed to pieces on the ground.

A sigh. Lysithea knew this was inevitable. Without a second thought, she unlocks her door, not even bothering to greet Cyril appropriately. With shame practically dripping from her face, she quickly scrambles towards her room, hiding herself underneath a pile of blankets.

Cyril, on the other hand, knew what was going on just by taking one look at her dorm.

The place was an absolute  _ mess. _ Well, maybe not  _ that _ messy; but considering it was Lysithea, it was enough to make his eyebrows knit together in concern and his chest to drop solemnly as he made his way inside her dorm.

The door was closed with a reassuring click. Lysithea could hear Cyril walking around her living room, but in truth, all she could think of was what was she  _ supposed _ to tell him? If she told him the truth, would he find it weird? If she told him that  _ Hey, I was just sad again because my siblings all died in an accident when I was young. And, you know, it's been a few years but I still feel guilty for being the only one who lived. _

If she let down her walls and let him in completely—would he still stay?

“Heya, Lysithea.” A soft knock on her bedroom door had forced Lysithea to get out from her head. She blinks twice, reluctantly bringing the blanket down from her head as she peers at Cyril.

With all the strength she could muster, she clears her throat, and opens her mouth to speak. “Yeah?”

“I drew you a bath. You should take one while I go and prepare you some dinner.”

She watches him as he makes his way towards her bed, his red pupils scanning the threshold of her room. He'd never been inside here—and it's not like he felt as if he needed to be in her room in the first place. During instances like this, however, Lysithea was _supposed_ to feel flustered because someone other than herself was inside her personal space, for Pete's sake! But the frustration that she half-expected to build up within her never came; instead, the palpable feeling from earlier was starting to subside, and the signs of discomfort she had been feeling for the past two days were gradually dissipating the closer Cyril moved towards her.

Call it shallow—but as soon as her friend sat next to her on her own bed, she had started tearing up again.

“You can always call me, ya know.”

Somehow, somewhat, his choice of words made her feel slightly better.  _ You can always call me. _ It wasn't demanding—he wasn't scolding her; he wasn't saying “You should have called me,” because maybe he knew that some days, reaching out didn't feel like an option, or maybe he knew that Lysithea didn't owe him an explanation, and if she wanted to talk, then she'd do that once she felt ready to.

Tears cloud her vision. She could hear him chuckling lightly, soon placing his arms around her as he held her in his arms comfortingly. The both of them relax upon making contact—staying that way for a couple of minutes more before Cyril pats Lysithea's back lightly. The sound of the whistling kettle pot from the kitchen echoes all around the dorm, and it urges Lysithea to open her eyes and wipe her tear-stained cheeks.

“Water in the bath's gonna get cold. Oh, and I'm also brewing ya some tea.” Cyril nods. The weight of the bed gets significantly lighter when Cyril stands up, and the warmth from earlier was replaced by the cold air—and Lysithea finds herself missing his touch even though his hand was still on hers. He waits for Lysithea to nod in acknowledgement before turning around with a smile; leaving her room half-heartedly. Once he was out of her peripheral vision, she does what she was told; she grabs clothes from her closet and proceeds to sneak towards the bathroom quietly, stealing glances at Cyril as he cooked in her kitchen.

Meanwhile, when Cyril was confident that he was alone, he did his best to clean up and make her dorm a little more presentable. He knew she didn't ask him to do so—but he figured it'd be a start for her.

Sweep the floor, get rid of the cobwebs, wipe the tables, dust the books—everything. He even set the table the way he used to when he was still living with Shamir and her wife. Before the time Lysithea was done with her bath, her dorm had looked like how it used to look. For once in his life, he cleaned voluntarily, and not because he felt like he was coerced to. And he was  _ damn _ proud of the results, too—thank heavens he was efficient at everything related to household chores.

Now, his only tasks left were to put on a good Netflix movie on Lysithea's smart TV, finish preparing a hearty meal, set the desserts he brought on some plates, and then he could leave Lysithea to her thoughts. Cyril didn't want to trespass on her bad day even further; so he thought that once he was atleast able to get her back up on her feet, it'd be enough for now, and he can just visit tomorrow morning if she still couldn't find it in her to go to class.

By the time Lysithea had finally exited the bathroom (which was around after an hour or so), Cyril was finished with everything.

“Hey,” He waves at her from her couch. “Dinner's ready. Also readied this animated movie for ya—but you can just eat and sleep if you're not up for it. I'll come back tomorrow to wash your dishes.”

Lysithea only nods at this; a towel atop her head. She'd been able to regain her composure when she was alone in her tub. She still wasn't ready to talk about it, though, but that didn't mean she had to mope around again.

As soon as she was about to speak, Cyril suddenly stands from his seat, retrieving his coat from the rack, humming a soft tune as he turns towards the door. Lysithea tilts her head in confusion—placing a hand on her hip, cocking up a brow as she silently judged him.

“Well, I'll be—huh? Why are ya looking at me like that?”

“Idiot.” Lysithea huffs, stomping her foot firmly on the floor. “Eat dinner with me.”

He blinks twice, a twinge of excitement building up inside his chest. Lysithea only hopes Cyril would say yes.

“You sure? Wouldn't want to impose.”

With warmth gradually spreading across Lysithea's pale cheeks, she trudges towards Cyril and she takes him by his wrist, softly tugging on it as she dragged him towards her dining area. Once they were there, she crosses her arms; gesturing for Cyril to take a seat on one of her mahogany chairs.

Before he makes the move to sit down, however, he opens his arms and he looks at Lysithea expectantly.

The said female only pouts as a response, soon shutting her eyes close as she inches closer to Cyril, wrapping her arms around his torso as she took in the scent of his cologne.

And he smelled like lilies. The kind of lilies that she and her siblings used to plant in their backyard; white, yellow, pink, orange, and whatever seeds their parents bought them from their recent trip to a flower shop. It made the tears from last night cascade down her cheeks yet again. It made her feel nostalgic—the bittersweet kind, too, and truth be told, it had taken the heavy burden off her shoulders momentarily. However, be that as it may, she still felt the loneliness somewhat strongly.

But maybe it was okay—she still had Cyril with her today, right?

Right.

“Food's getting cold.”

She smiles at the irony.

“It's okay.” Lysithea mutters softly. “Food's not going to go anywhere.”

The silence that follows subsequently was comfortable enough for them to stay cuddled up in the middle of her dining room. And silent, although he was, Lysithea understood what Cyril wanted her to know even though it was left unspoken.

_ “I'm not going anywhere either.” _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you ever cuddled w ur friends ?? it's the BEST smh >:(
> 
> anyways i hope u liked this one owo


	5. please don't let me fall alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He laughs it off.
> 
> “If this is your quirky way of asking me out on a date, then sure.” Cyril takes her up on her offer, soon taking her hand and standing up as well, picking up his own set of things from the ground and placing them inside his brown, leather backpack.
> 
> Lysithea rolls her eyes playfully. “As if I'd ever go out on a date with you!”
> 
> Cyril knew she was joking that moment—but he'd be lying if he said his heart didn't ache upon hearing it.”

“Claude set you up on a  _ what?” _

Cyril didn't know if he should feel overjoyed or worried because of the distress present in Lysithea's tone of voice.

“A blind date.” He releases a groan; taking a sip from his iced tea. They were both situated underneath a tree inside the premises of their campus field, with their textbooks and study sheets sprawled across the grass. They had the rest of the afternoon to study—primarily because their last two classes had been cancelled, supposedly because their Professors were unable to meet them. It was probably code for “Their Professors were too lazy to actually teach today” or something along those lines; but they weren't complaining.

“R-Really? That sounds so stupid,” She huffs under her breath, leaning abruptly to the oak tree behind her. She proceeds to smoothen out the sheets atop her lap, an impatient glare still residing on her face. “Did he say who?”

He rolls his eyes at this. “It's a blind date, ‘course he didn't say who.”

“J-Just making sure!” Replies Lysithea, hastily sucking in a sharp breath before composing herself. “Is this going to be your first date ever, then?”

Cyril dwells on her question for an unnecessarily long period of time. He masks his wonderment by scribbling down notes on his journal—pretending as if he was enamored by his Architectural History lectures.

First date?

He never really thought about it before; but technically, it actually was going to be his first date. Technically. Did study dates conducted at nearly 3 in the morning count? Did hastily-planned movie marathons inside Lysithea's dorm count? How about the days wherein Cyril went over to Lysithea's dorm to have a sleepover? The coffee shop meetings that he and Lysithea had during weekends—did those count?

He scoffs at his idiocy. Of course it didn't count. Those would only count as dates if Lysithea considered them to be dates as well.

“I think so.” He shrugs, a sigh soon escaping his lips. “Wasn't really interested in, er, dates before. But I figured there'd be no harm in trying to go on one—since I'm in college already, and whatever.”

In truth, Cyril really wasn't planning on accepting Claude's offer, mainly because he was still so, oddly smitten over none other than Lysithea von Ordelia—his close friend from his math courses, the girl who somehow found him worthy of her oh-so-precious time.

But he knew that if he didn't take any action to move on, all of this would only lead to inevitable heartbreak, or worse: the conclusion of his friendship with the aforementioned female. The Gods know how much Cyril didn't want that to happen.

So even though he doesn't want to—he'll have to try.

“Well..” Lysithea clears her throat, taking a bite out of the cranberry cookie she had brought along with her. She averts her gaze towards the clouds, a feeling similar to jealousy gradually bubbling up inside her stomach. “Seeing as I'm older than you, it falls on me to teach you what to do on dates!”

It takes everything out of Cyril to avoid laughing at her statement.

“Lysithea,” He stifles a snort. “You're older than me by eight months— _ not _ ten years.” After Cyril finishes his argument, the female fumes lightly; flicking him by his earlobe as she takes a small sip from her cold boba tea.

“Still! Unlike you, I've had my fair share of  _ proper _ dates!”

“I don't think going out with Lorenz on a dare qualifies as a  _ proper _ date, but wha—”

“Shut it!” She cuts him off, soon punching Cyril's forearm lightly, her cheeks soon getting flooded by a red tone. “Don't even  _ remind _ me about that. Excluding that one incident from second year, I've had dates with people!”

“Oh, really?” Cyril smirks. “Name them, then.”

The female blinks—placing a finger on her chin, soon getting lost in thought. Her companion was about to let out yet another sarcastic comment, but she suddenly snapped her fingers together, a light bulb practically appearing beside her head as her churned expression changed to a beaming one.

“Well, there was Linhardt, from when we were still in first year.” Lysithea smiles proudly upon recalling it. “Oh, and Felix, too!”

His jaw drops to the ground. Linhardt? Felix?  _ Those _ were the types of guys Lysithea went for? All hopes of her ever liking him back practically drifted away from Cyril's body—the light from his eyes dramatically getting drained away as his brain tried to register the newly-learnt information that Lysithea had happily provided him with.

He turns away.

“Good for you, I guess.”

Lysithea misses the way Cyril's shoulder tenses up.

“B-But, anyway! Come on!” She starts by packing up her things, placing them neatly inside her backpack in accordance to where they were supposed to be put. She stuffs the cookie wrappers inside one of the smaller compartments, soon slinging her bag on her back. “I'll show you great spots you can take your date to.”

Now towering over Cyril with an extended hand was Lysithea—a seemingly genuine smile on her lips; and if Cyril knew any better, he'd say that her grin looked a little more forced than usual.

He laughs it off.

“If this is your quirky way of asking me out on a date, then sure.” Cyril takes her up on her offer, soon taking her hand and standing up as well, picking up his own set of things from the ground and placing them inside his brown, leather backpack.

Lysithea rolls her eyes playfully. “As if I'd ever go out on a date with you!”

Cyril knew she was joking that moment—but he'd be lying if he said his heart didn't ache upon hearing it.

* * *

It had been a few hours since Lysithea offered to help Cyril out with his blind date. Sure, he left the campus with Lysithea harboring bitter and unpleasant feelings because of the harsh truth that he had no chance with her, but once he was past that—he actually started to have a lot of fun.

During the first hour, Lysithea took him to a park near their university. He had never been here before (that was on him, though, because he never did like going out that much), but as soon as he saw the flower patches and the bikes you could rent out? He was sold.

_ “See?” The white-haired female begins. “You could buy your date some flowers and rent out some bikes!” _

They spent their time chasing each other around the park on their individual bicycles; with sloppily made flower bouquets on each of their baskets. He also bought her some cotton candy afterwards—and he, himself, overindulged on some sandwiches he stumbled on during his venture to the numerous street vendors lined up around the park.

During the second hour, the female hastily dragged him to this Aquarium that was conveniently only fifteen minutes away from the park they were in. The tickets to get inside were a little pricey—but the marine life were actually a sight to see. There were even photobooths and photo stand-ins inside with ocean-themed backdrops and props; of course, the two of them ended up taking lots of pictures there, just for the heck of it.

_ “I'm older, so I get to wear the captain's hat!” Lysithea smiles, overfilled with pride. Cyril could only groan. “Again, you're only older by eight months, Lysi. Eight months.” _

There was one particular picture that Cyril liked, though. It was the one where the both of them were wearing these big fish-themed sunglasses; with both of their hands on top of their heads to recreate a shark's fin. Upon receiving that picture, the male grabbed a pen from his pocket and scribbled today's date on one corner; soon placing it inside his wallet when Lysithea wasn't looking.

During their third hour, the both of them decided to eat dinner. Lysithea, supposedly being the wise one when it came to dates, claimed that she knew the perfect place to dine out—because it wasn't too pricey,  _ and  _ the food options were broad. She ended up taking him to the coffee shop they usually frequented in, which surprised Cyril, because he never expected her to treat  _ their _ favorite meet-up place as a great date spot.

_ “What?” She blinks curiously at him, one of her eyebrows arched questioningly. “There's nothing better than eating out in a place you have personal attachments to.” _

It proved to be true, too. However, Cyril was unsure if it was because he had personal attachments to that particular café, or if it was because of the personal attachments he had for Lysithea.

The day had ended and the moon was already on the sky when they had finished eating; with full stomachs and exhausted limbs, the both of them exit the coffee shop side by side, conversing about how the dinner menu was  _ definitely _ a lot better than their breakfast menu.

The both of them erupt into fits of laughter for the nth time today; but silence overcomes them as soon as they see the ghost of their dorm building nearing.

“So, what do you think?” Lysithea smiles at Cyril cheekily, her hands stuffed inside her coat's pockets. The cool winter air sent her hair flowing aback—the moonlight accentuating the highlights of her cheekbones. Cyril's eyes soften ever so slightly; bumping his shoulder to her own lightly, soon sending a nod of acknowledgement her way.

“For someone who's only gone to three dates, you sure do know a lot about them.” 

She chuckles to herself, her hand covering her mouth as she walks in a steadfast pace. He commits the sound of her laughter inside his head—cherishing the way his bitterness from earlier today had slowly dissipated from his system the more he heard her laugh.

“Two dates. The Lorenz one  _ doesn't _ count!”

“Okay, if you say so, princess.”

The singing of the crickets echoed throughout the semi-empty streets of Fódlan. The particular district they were walking in was dim—only a few light posts were turned on, and as well as the vague light coming from various different apartment windows. The night was serene. And it seems that Lysithea notices the subtle hints of melancholy that was about to consume Cyril again—because she took him by the hand, soon dragging him to a nearby fence that had a clear view of the sandy shores of the faraway beach.

He gets flooded with uncertainty again—he didn't know if he should be happy or afraid that Lysithea somehow knew him well enough to perceive that he was feeling uneasy. His chest heaves up and down heavily. Once calm, he leans on the fence, with Lysithea watching him carefully, almost as if she was afraid that he'd fall from the fence. Her pink eyes unknowingly trail down from his eyes to his lips.

For a moment, Lysithea considered confessing to him right then and there.

But instead of doing so, she settles on breaking the silence for now—a comforting grin laying atop her pink lips.

“If you and your date have half as much fun as we did today,” She moves closer towards Cyril, her facial expression wavering ever so slightly; if she thought the shadows were able to hide her distressed look, then she should really try to cloak her eyes better. “Then they're a keeper. And you should definitely ask for a second date.”

He looks at her through the corner of his optics.

“Don't worry.” The brunette lets out a deep breath. “I'm cancelling the blind date.”

For a moment, Cyril saw the corners of her lips tug upwards to form a small smile, but before he could even confirm, Lysithea placed a hand to cover the lower half of her face.

“Oh?” She clears her throat. “Really? Why the change of heart?”

Cyril will have to settle for the inevitable heartbreak—because moving on from Lysithea seemed to be an impossible thing to do, especially when he felt like he had a chance; especially when he felt like Lysithea was not as out of reach as he thought.

If only he tried harder—maybe then, he'd deserve her.

“It's just no fun without you, Lysithea.”

Maybe being in love with her for a while longer wouldn't hurt anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer :: i love lorenz hellman gloucester, but making fun of him is just so dang fun >:DDD
> 
> anyways, i hope you liked this one! owo


	6. not out loud; never out loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The line abruptly ends with a sharp click, leaving Lysithea dumb-founded in her place. She sets her feet down firmly to the ceramic floor; the urge to go home and drown her feelings away increasing ever so slightly. Even as she was frustrated—the warmth across her cheeks were still there, and it only added more fuel to the fire.
> 
> A heavy sigh escapes her lips.
> 
> Stop it. This is irrational. You're just friends. 
> 
> These words repeat themselves over and over in her head—and even as she walked over towards where her friends were, they were all she could think of.
> 
> He wouldn't.."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lysithea-centric; light angst starts here ;;
> 
> this is actually pretty self-indulgent, for the most part--because i just like writing about lysithea and her feelings

There are rare occasions wherein Lysithea and Cyril aren't in the same room together.

Those instances were the worst—not because Lysithea wanted to be around the brunette 24/7; but because whenever she was with other friends, they'd constantly ask about their non-existent relationship, always putting ideas inside Lysithea's head. She was only starting to figure out her own feelings; but why did it feel like her friends were one step ahead of her when it came to it? Was it their older age? Their experience when it came to the excessive surge of oxytocin and dopamine in their brain?

Whatever it was, it had always left a bitter taste in her mouth.

As of the moment, Lysithea was amongst her friends, particularly Claude and the little gang he had formed during her first year in GMSU; they were all huddled up comfortably inside a certain violet-haired male's condominium. It was a little far from the university, but none of them complained, because of the seemingly unlimited snacks and drinks that Lorenz always prepared for them. This all started when Claude hung up flyers all around the dorm building a little over two years ago, looking for supposed 'members' to participate in a trivia night against the two most esteemed students in Garreg Mach and their own set of peers—Edelgard von Hresvelg from the Economics department, and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd from the Political Science department. 

Lysithea was hesitant to sign up; but after a little push from Claude (who she had known since high school due to their families being close friends), she scribbled her name on the sheet, adrenaline practically overcoming her system as soon as she was done.

That was how she met them.

Them, meaning Hilda Valentine Goneril, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Leonie Pinelli, Raphael Kirsten, Ignatz Victor, and Marianne von Edmund. The eight of them were fast friends because of one common factor: they were all pretty much peculiar in their own subtle ways (save for Lorenz—primarily because his pompousness wasn't really subtle, per se).

“Hey!” Lysithea breaks away from her trail of thought—seeing Hilda's slender fingers snapping warily in front of her face. She scrunches her nose on instinct, inching away from her hand, soon swatting it away. She sees seven pairs of eyes staring at her confusedly, and soon, Claude cuts through the silence by pointing at her phone.

It was ringing.

She mumbles a small apology, opening her phone and excusing herself from the comfortable living room and into the balcony. She answers the call as soon as her screen lights up again; not bothering to check who the caller was because she had a hunch she already knew who it was.

A small smile creeps up to her lips.

“Hello?”

The subtle sound of static from the other line sends Lysithea's nerves spiraling; primarily because she didn't know why he had called her at nearly 9 in the evening.

_“Yo. What are ya up to?”_

Cyril's voice was still as sonorous as ever even though they were talking through a phone; it momentarily sent shivers down Lysithea's spine, before shaking herself out of it, opting to just lean against the rails of the balcony as she tried to soothe her pacing heart.

 _Stop it._ She struggles inwardly. _This is irrational._

“I'm with Claude and the others. Just hanging out at Gloucester's condo.” She twirls a strand of her white hair around her finger; her eyes drifting off to her friends situated inside the living room. They were all crowded around Ignatz' laptop—probably reading reviews for the upcoming movie they were all looking forward to. “How about you?”

_“Just grocery shopping with Ashe and Mercie,”_

She hears a female voice (Mercie?) call out to Cyril, asking him what cereal he wanted to get—said brunette replies to her briefly, but Lysithea couldn't really make out what they talked about after because it all sounded muffled.

_“Hi again! Are we still up for movie night tomorrow?”_

She blinks twice, her eyelids fluttering close as her free hand makes its way atop her chest. “Yeah. It's our last free day before oral defense week.”

_“Alrighty then. What snacks should I get ya for tomorrow? I figured I should ask since I'm in the market anyway.”_

Butterflies start to flood the female's stomach—waves and waves of euphoria gradually taking over her. She ponders on it for a few seconds, before soon replying.

“Strawberry pop tarts? Oh, and can you get me some of those popcorn you brought last week?”

_“The sea salt one? Gotcha! Anything else?”_

She pauses.

“I think that's it! Thanks a bunch!”

She hears him chuckle from the other line; his laugh echoes in her brain, feeling the familiar surge of serotonin bubbling up in her head slowly. Her cheeks heat up.

“W-What's so funny?” She questions him accusingly, her eyebrows knitting together out of impatience. She crosses her arms soon after—her gaze falling to the floor as she awaited for his response.

_“Nothing, nothing. Just thought that was a little cute.”_

She didn't know what came over her after.

First, she processes what he had just told her, her throat drying up as she suddenly found it hard to speak. If her cheeks were only a little red earlier, then now the heat had expanded to her entire face—looking as flushed as a tomato in bloom. She clicks her tongue after a few seconds of silence, though, stomping her left foot on the floor subsequently after.

She was used to him complimenting her out of the blue—but why was she still so _damn_ flustered?

“Shut it. Stop.” She grits out. She didn't know if her response was directed at Cyril, or herself, but either way, she meant it with every fiber of her being. _Stop it. This is irrational._ Those words kept repeating inside her brain—like a mantra.

_Just friends. You're just friends._

She hears him laughing lightheartedly again, and as she was about to retaliate once more, he quickly opens his mouth to speak.

_“Anyway, I should get going. Don't want to take up too much of your time. Text me if you want me to take you home.”_

The line abruptly ends with a sharp click, leaving Lysithea dumb-founded in her place. She sets her feet down firmly to the ceramic floor; the urge to go home and drown her feelings away increasing ever so slightly. Even as she was frustrated—the warmth across her cheeks were still there, and it only added more fuel to the fire.

A heavy sigh escapes her lips.

_Stop it. This is irrational. You're just friends._

These words repeat themselves over and over in her head—and even as she walked over towards where her friends were, they were all she could think of.

_He wouldn't.._

“You were out there for like, ten minutes.” Was Claude's quick remark when Lysithea finally plopped herself down on the sofa. He hikes up a curious brow, his green eyes staring her down; she knew she had to give him answers at this point—because when Claude was interested, he would not stop until he got the information he wanted. “Who was it?”

“Just Cyril.” With a disinterested look in her eyes, she flickers them to meet Claude's peering stare, soon noticing the suggestive looks that their other friends had on their faces. Lysithea could only release a disgruntled moan.

“How's that going?” The mischievous glint found in Hilda's smile was suffocatingly persistent; nerve-racking. It was as if the pinkette had the two of them figured out just by looking—and it just sent Lysithea spiraling down even more.

_Stop it._

“What does _that_ mean?” Lysithea glares at all of them lightly, her chest rising up and down unsteadily. “Nowhere. We're friends.”

The others watch Hilda and Claude shift in their seats. At this point, the tension was thick enough to cut, even Lorenz found it hard to interject. Ignatz, Marianne, Raphael, and Leonie all look down in unison; exchanging worried glances silently amongst themselves.

“You seem awfully aggravated.” The Almyran male takes a sip from his can of root beer—his composure never faltering. “Did something happen?”

Lysithea was getting impatient. 

_This is irrational._

“Nothing happened. Stop treating me like a child already!” With a half-hearted snarl, and a heavy heart, Lysithea covers her face with one of the throw pillows; she feels the cushion beside her getting weighed down, signaling that someone had taken a seat next to her. Judging by the long, pink hair that Lysithea caught a glimpse of, she knew it was Hilda.

“If you don't mind me asking,” The taller female starts. “What's going on between you two, anyway?”

Ordelia lowers the pillow, sending yet another sharp glare to Hilda's way, hiding the blush on her face through the velvet pillow. She scans their other friends' faces, seeing a mixture of both interest and worry clouding them.

This only annoys her even more. She could handle herself—she didn't _need_ them to worry about her and her sudden influx of uncertain emotions. She didn't _need_ them to overanalyze her—because there was nothing to analyze. Cyril was her friend. She was his friend. Sure, they were closer than most, but that didn't mean anything. If Lysithea hypothetically felt something other than platonic feelings and general concern, then that wasn't _their_ business. It was hers.

_Just friends._

It was her burden. Her fault. She didn't _need_ them to assure her that harboring these unnecessary emotions were okay—because she knew it wasn't. And it wouldn't be okay; because for the first time in her life, someone offered her genuine friendship, and she, in return, ended up pining for something more.

It was unfair for Cyril.

_You're just friends._

“Nothing is going on. Can you please drop it already? I'm really not in the mood for your silly antics. Let's just watch a movie.”

They oblige. Begrudgingly, sure, but they left it alone; if Lysithea wasn't ready to talk about it, then that was okay. As much as Claude and Hilda wanted to help her, they couldn't, especially since she was still probably surrounded by the negativity of it all.

They've been worried, though. It's been months. Claude was far too observant to ever miss the way Lysithea's eyes lit up whenever Cyril entered the room; and Hilda never failed to notice the way the two of them always stole lingering looks at the other when they weren't looking.

Both of them knew that Cyril would be fine. But this was new for Lysithea—that much was obvious.

It takes everything out of Hilda to change the topic—but she forces herself to, anyway.

“Hey, pizza on me. How about that?”

_He wouldn't like me._

Lysithea lets her shoulders slump; her hands growing numb the longer her thoughts encapture her whole. The others go back to what they were doing earlier, exerting effort to make the awkward tension go away, soon flooding out from the room and into the kitchen to help Hilda order the pizza. The sky was getting darker. The lights inside the living room dim down—and as Lysithea was about to follow the others to the kitchen, Claude takes her by the wrist, a look of both concern and sincerity evident on his expression.

“Calm down, okay?” Claude sighs. “Overthinking things is bad for your heart—you know that.”

Lysithea only showcases a bittersweet smile.

_He shouldn't like me._

“I'll be okay.” The female pats her chest lightly, nodding at Claude. “I'll get rid of these feelings soon.”

She hears Claude suck in a sharp breath; his hand soon ruffling her already messy hair. She pouts at this.

“You don't have to. Just take it easy, okay?”

He leaves her alone after that.

_Stop it. This is irrational._

If falling in love with Cyril would just cause the both of them unnecessary pain and a flurry of irrational heartache, then Lysithea von Ordelia will just have to settle for ridding her system of the butterflies he gave her.

_Just friends. You're just friends._

And if Lysithea von Ordelia ended up crying herself to bed that same night, cold and regretful, worried and in pain—then she would never admit it.

_He wouldn't.._

Talking about her feelings for Cyril had always left a bitter, unpleasant taste in her mouth.

_He could never like you back._

Maybe it was better this way.


	7. and there's no one to blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He missed seeing her scribble down notes with her obnoxious violet ballpen, he missed ordering her drink for her whenever they were in their meet-up spot, he missed seeing the small glint of sheer joy that her eyes held whenever he brought her pastries; he missed seeing the white cardigan she kept reusing, and as well as the scent of tea that hovered around her person. It’s been nearly two weeks. Cyril couldn’t fathom how he had lived his life prior to Lysithea’s arrival."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cyril-centric ;; only a few more chapters left before this mini-fic ends owo

“Dude. You look like  _ shit _ .”

Cyril took offense to that.

He glares at Sylvain. The two weren't really  _ that _ close—so it came as a surprise to him when Ashe came over his dorm alongside the aforementioned redhead.

Cyril takes a quick moment to observe himself through his wall mirror. Underneath his eyes were dark undertones, his hair was unkempt, and his face was unusually pale as well from his lack of proper sleep. The brunette had always  _ loved _ to nap; but he was rendered unable to because of the stupid oral defense week.

He sighs.

He knew that his schoolworks weren't the only ones giving him excessive stress—he knew that a part of the reason why he had been more agitated than usual was because Lysithea had been.. quiet, per se.

Oral defense week had passed by in a blur; the female barely responded to his messages. He didn't mind, though, because maybe she was busy reading over her thesis with her group mates, or something. In class, her performance was not to be trifled with, because absolutely no one could be compared to her great intelligence (save for Linhardt von Hevring, maybe—but they didn't share classes together, so there's that). But she talked about nothing else apart from her academic responsibilities, much like how she used to be before she and Cyril became close friends.

At the back of his head, he knew she was avoiding him.

He wasn't very thrilled about that theory. First, he really didn't know what he did for her to avoid him—because their last interaction was still fairly normal. They were even laughing—making fun of the inaccuracies they found in the movie they were watching that particular Friday evening.

Second, if she really  _ was _ avoiding him, then that would mean he'd have to confront her about it eventually. Don't get him wrong—he had no problem speaking his mind; but he's always been afraid of how she'd react. She was like a ticking time bomb, and even though Cyril had a certain fondness for her unpredictable reactions, he still valued her emotions.

Third, he knew that if he  _ did _ somehow do something bad that rendered him worthy of her absence, then he'd have to respect whatever her predicament would be.

Even if what she asked for was for them to sever ties.

“ _ Gee, _ thanks, Sylvain. I didn't notice.” With sarcasm practically dripping from his tone of voice, he rolls his eyes irritatedly, laying his chin on top of his calloused palm lazily. He hears Sylvain and Ashe pull out the chairs in front of him; soon mentally debating with himself as he didn't know if he should be a  _ gracious _ host and offer them some beverages.

He decides against it in the end.

“Is this a school problem?” Ashe asks with his usual comforting voice; a soft smile on his lips. He was about to speak again, but Sylvain interjects, directing a suggestive grin to Cyril. “Or is it a  _ love _ problem?”

The brunette groans.

“Really, Ashe? Did ya really have to bring him?”

“ _ Hey! _ I can hear you, you know!”

“It's Lysithea.”

_ Fuck. _ Regret washes over him as soon as he slips up.  _ I wasn't supposed to tell them. _

“Yeah, I figured that much.” A frown replaces the oh-so-sweet grin on Ashe's face; nudging Sylvain with his elbow, almost as if he was telling him to say something. Fortunately, the redhead wasn't oblivious today, soon sending an acknowledging nod to Ashe's direction.

“Hilda may or may not have told me something about that.” All signs of insincerity leave Sylvain's exterior; his arms soon crossing as he leans against one of Cyril's dining chairs. “But, depending on how you answer the questions I'm about to ask, I may or may not tell you what I  _ may or may not _ kno—”

“What Sylvain  _ means _ is,” Ashe cuts him off, waving a dismissive hand. “He knows something, but he's not sure if he should tell you just yet.”

Cyril's lips part slightly, his head tilting to the side as he urges the two of them to continue. The faint ticking of the wall clock unknowingly sends the brunette off, driving him to an uncomfortable place inside his mind.

The clock rang unusually loud inside his head; and he was beginning to feel the ghost of a headache creeping up from his neck.

Sylvain and Ashe give each other one last reassuring glance. Cyril sweat drops.

“Do you, er..”

Somehow, Cyril was starting to find his cream walls more interesting than whatever Sylvain was about to ramble about. Yes offense.

“Do you like Lysithea?” A careful sigh leaves the redhead's lips. “Outside of the platonic spectrum, I mean.”

His red eyes fall flat to the carpeted floor; focusing intently on whatever detail his eyes managed to catch a glimpse of. Of course he liked Lysithea.  _ Of course. _ He's liked her for a while now; longer than he cared to admit. Maybe it all started the first time he saw her almost drifting off to sleep in class during their second week of being classmates—maybe it started when he saw her for the first time in Hilda and Sylvain's annual Christmas party. Maybe he started liking her even before they formally met; and maybe what he was feeling now was far too strong to fall under the “like” section.

He evades the question.

“Look,” He scoffs solemnly. “Lysithea has been avoiding me. I don't know how my damn feelings are relevant in this situation. Because  _ she's _ the one avoiding  _ me— _ which means the only feelings that actually matter in this scenario are hers.”

The green-eyed one out of the three of them shakes his head in distress; inwardly facepalming as he tries to ground Sylvain by tugging lightly on his sleeve.

Cyril better thank the heavens that Sylvain was a patient guy.

“Well, if her feelings matter so much, then why haven't you been paying attention?” Sylvain clicks his tongue in annoyance, an irk mark practically appearing on his forehead. “You're a smart guy—and you seem to be self-aware. Can you stop being so stubborn and answer the question?”

He blatantly ignores him.

“She hasn't been answering my messages—let alone my calls. I know she's doing okay, since I still see her in class, but still.” Cyril's breathing was gradually shortening. “She could at least tell me what I did wrong. I'm entitled to that—I mean, even just a short explanation. Just so I'm not left wandering in the dark, or.. or something!”

The clock in his room chimes a little when it hit nine in the morning—shocking Cyril away from his speeding heart, leaving him breathless. His two companions exchange worried looks; without a second thought, Ashe rises from his seat, heading towards Cyril's refrigerator and taking three cans of light beer.

“Don’t get me wrong—your feelings are valid. But she doesn’t owe you anything, man.” Sylvain replies; a bitter expression taking over his face. “Just take a deep breath. Calm down for a sec.”

That was easier said than done.

He missed her. Gods, he missed her so  _ damn _ much. He knew he didn’t have a chance with her—but that didn’t even matter to him anymore at this point; he just missed having his friend around. He missed seeing her scribble down notes with her obnoxious violet ballpen, he missed ordering her drink for her whenever they were in their meet-up spot, he missed seeing the small glint of sheer joy that her eyes held whenever he brought her pastries; he missed seeing the white cardigan she kept reusing, and as well as the scent of tea that hovered around her person. It’s been nearly two weeks. Cyril couldn’t fathom how he had lived his life prior to Lysithea’s arrival.

“Just give her some time. She’ll reach out when she’s ready.”

The brunette knew that Ashe’s words rang true, but it still left him feeling discouraged.

Similar to the past few weeks, the rest of the morning passed by in a blur; Cyril couldn’t really recall much apart from Sylvain’s boisterous laughter and Ashe’s idle chatter. Their noise turned out to be of great help, though, because it only made him contemplate about the situation he was in. 

First, he was wrong. Lysithea wasn’t required to give him an explanation—and he certainly wasn’t entitled to one either, especially if he did something to hurt her. He’d have to thank Sylvain for helping him realize that later on.

Second, he valued her emotions. If she needed time to think some things over, then he’d give her that. If she wasn’t quite ready to confront him about this whole situation they were in—then that’s okay.

_ “Hey, what date is it today?” Ashe asks to no one in particular, a look of wonderment gracing his expression. Cyril shrugs weakly, while Sylvain opens his phone to check. Cyril doesn’t wait for him to respond; soon dropping his head softly on his table, sucking in a sharp breath. _

_ “Uh, it's the last day of January—2020.” _

_ The end of winter was nearing quicker than he had anticipated; the mere thought of spring being right around the corner somehow cheered Cyril up, too, because it goes without saying that the male has never been a fan of the cold season. _

_ He smiles. February was fast-approaching. _

..And third; whatever Lysithea’s final predicament will be—whether she decides to sever ties with Cyril or continue to avoid him wordlessly—then he’ll respect her decision.

_ “It’s just no fun without you, Lysithea.” _

The moment Ashe and Sylvain leave his dorm, he feels both relief and exhaustion overtake his body.

He’ll have to start trying harder from now on; that much, he knew.


	8. if that's alright with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He was tangible—real. He was within reach; she could hold his hand and hug him close, she could run her hands through his hair, she could cup his cheeks with her palms. He was so painstakingly close that she felt like she could reach out to him and let the world fall away.
> 
> But if she did all of those things, would he want to stay?
> 
> He wouldn't.”

Days have gone by awfully slow ever since Lysithea made the decision to avoid Cyril.

She never wanted to do it; but she didn't feel like she had much of a choice, anyway. She was confused. A small voice inside her conscience told her to just approach him and talk things out— _ apologize _ for falling in love with him and reading into his kindness in a different way. But she didn't know how to do that without making a fool out of herself, and there was also the fact that if she  _ did _ decide to talk to him about all this, then that would mean confessing. That would mean telling him out loud that she liked him.

She could never do that. Saying it out loud terrified her immensely—because it would feel.. real. She wasn't ready for that yet. 

Lysithea von Ordelia was known to never back down from challenges.

But it's been a month since she last talked to the brunette. She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss him. She'd be lying if she said she didn't think about replying to his messages, or returning his calls—or maybe even visiting his dorm. She started avoiding him in hopes of ridding her system of these feelings, in hopes of lessening the burden he probably felt because of her, so how come even though they didn't hang out any more, he was still all she could think about?

Him and his stupidly charming grin. His laugh, his voice, his accent—all ingrained inside her head like some kind of song she could never get rid of, no matter how hard she tried to phase them out. The scent of his cologne, the warmth of his presence, and the comforts of his embrace; they all drifted inside Lysithea's mind, never once leaving, making her yearn for him even more with each passing day. She'd tell herself over and over that this was  _ wrong _ , and that loving him was a guilty pleasure—one that she should never indulge in no matter how tempting it might get. Because they were only friends. And Cyril would never see Lysithea as something more than that; he could never.

She'd only hurt him if he did.

She releases a shaky breath. Winter was starting to become unbearably cold.

It was in the middle of February. The winter breeze was starting to tone down significantly, and the people were excitedly preparing themselves for the spring season. Spring in Fódlan meant tons of flowers blossoming—and as well as a few festivals around the vicinity.

Spring for Lysithea, however, meant the beginning of yet another year with the same old guilt, the same old pain.

She forces these thoughts out of her brain in a haste, slapping her cheeks harshly to wake her up. It was around five in the afternoon—she had spent most of the day holed up in the library, reading and studying in advance, primarily because without Cyril, she had nothing else better to do. Her other friends were apparently busy by the looks of it; and even if they weren't, Lysithea didn't want to be a bother, so she'd still end up hiding inside the library.

Now, she was shuffling through her room keys, twisting her door knob open soon after, preparing herself to turn in for the day and rest her slightly fatigued body, when all of a sudden—

“Surprise!”

She was greeted by multiple heads jumping up from behind her sofa.

As a result, she shrieks, jumping backwards as she feels her body collide with the walls of the dorm building's hallway; a disoriented expression planted on her face as she tries to register what was going on in front of her.

Wait—

February?

“Happy early birthday, Lysithea!”

_ Oh. _

The color from her face gets drained away by the shock, her mind taking an awful long time to process what was happening. She blinks twice. Upon taking a closer look, her dorm was filled with various decorations; her ceilings were ornamented with party streamers, violet and white, all organized in a pattern that made them look aesthetically pleasing. On the far back of her living room, there was a huge banner with the words “Happy 19th Birthday!” on it, with light doodles drawn sloppily all around the text. There was a big table in the center of the room, too—filled with gifts in various shapes and sizes. The scent of sweets is the one that entices her, though; and as soon as her pale pink eyes make their way across the dining table, her mouth waters in anticipation. It was filled with all kinds of pastries.

She unglues herself from the wall, slowly walking towards her dorm. The sound of music and horns cloud her hearing; a small smile creeping up to her lips as some of her peers walk towards her as well with joyful expressions.

“You guys didn't have to go through all the trouble!”

In truth, Lysithea was trying her hardest not to cry.

Claude and Hilda hold a thumbs-up, soon ruffling Lysithea's hair as they both spread their arms open, capturing her in an embrace. She returns their hug—her brain overfilling with serotonin the longer she stays inside the comforts of their touch. It's been a while since someone's given her a hug. She didn't know she was touch-starved up until her friends started to break away, the cold engulfing Lysithea whole again almost immediately after.

“Come on, we have all kinds of gifts prepared!”

Hilda gestures to the coffee table with piles and piles of gifts laying atop it soundly, a reassuring grin settled on her cherry lips. Lysithea nods curtly, soon taking the initiative to scan her surroundings and check on the guests who attended her surprise birthday party, just so she knew who to thank as soon as this was all over.

Well, there was Claude von Riegan, who—by the looks of it—was the one who organized this entire gathering. He had worn a black turtleneck, a dark yellow coat draped on his shoulders, with the same verdant green eyes that held both his curiosity and mischief. She had always considered Claude to be an older brother figure of hers; but she'd have to die first before ever telling him that in person.

Then, there was Hilda Valentine Goneril, and her girlfriend Marianne von Edmund—both friends of Lysithea's. They've been together for around two years already; originally, the two were also just close friends, but it all changed when Hilda confessed to Marianne during the summer break two years ago, soon making the announcement to practically everyone in her contacts list that she and Marianne had finally gotten together after months of pining.

Lysithea likes that story a lot. But she knows it doesn't happen for everyone.

Then, there was Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, and Ferdinand von Aegir—the both of them wore matching button-up vests. Lysithea didn't know if they looked sharp, or stupid, but she was grateful that the two of them found the time to attend.

Raphael Kirsten, Ignatz Victor, and Flayn. She chuckles at the sight of the three; she knew upon seeing them that Ignatz would be their mediator later on this evening, seeing as Raphael and Flayn were  _ probably _ going to conduct another screaming contest just for the heck of it. She wasn't looking forward to that.

She also catches a glimpse of who seems to be Bernadetta von Varley hiding behind Raphael's towering stature, scared and anxious out of her wits. Lysithea will have to try and talk to her later, just to see if she can get her calm down a little. She's always been slightly alarmed at Bernie's disdain when it came to socializing.

On one corner of the room, there was Leonie Pinelli and Felix Hugo Fraldarius, both consumed by conversation with cans of beer on hand. Those two were unconventional friends as well—and no one really expected that Leonie would easily get the aloof male's respect just because the both of them were fans of this sword-fighting series on Netflix.

She also sees Edelgard von Hresvelg and Linhardt von Hevring, both seated on one of her bar stools in the kitchen. Lysithea sends them both a warm smile, waving softly with her free hand. She had close emotional ties with Edelgard (primarily because the two of them found out that they went to the same therapist), and she's always had a platonic fondness for Linhardt. The aforementioned two send a nod her way, waving to her as well as Edelgard mouths “Happy birthday” silently.

Annette Fantine Dominic, Mercedes von Martritz, and Caspar von Bergliez were all huddled up in the middle of the room alongside Claude and Hilda, holding confetti poppers and party horns with disheveled grins adorning their expressions.

Then, near the far-end of the room, were none other than Sylvain, Ashe, and..

Lysithea takes a deep breath.

Cyril. Cyril was here.

And he was wearing something other than his dark green GMSU hoodie for once. This urges Lysithea to stifle her chuckle. He had a beige dress shirt on, with the first few buttons left open. His hair still looked as soft as ever even with the living room lights significantly dimmed down—and Lysithea could see the dark undertones beneath his eyes, sending her spiraling into a pit of guilt even more.  _ He's here. _ She's been avoiding him for a month, but he still insisted on coming to her birthday. She had to glue her feet firmly to the floor, or else she'd end up running up to him and tackling him with a tight hug, and even though that sounded exactly like what she needed today, she was reminded of the harsh fact that she  _ couldn't. _ Not when she still felt this way about him—not when she felt like she took advantage of his friendship.

Not when she was still hopelessly, irretrievably in love with him.

With lightly clenched fists, a heavy heart, and gritted teeth—Lysithea pries her eyes away from his figure, taking a quick second to compose herself and straighten her posture.

She turns to Hilda, and she smiles.

“Can we eat some cake first before opening the presents? I'm  _ starving.” _

* * *

The evening went by particularly fast tonight, and Lysithea was uncertain if she should be happy about it.

Opening the presents felt uncomfortable as hell; because all eyes were glued on  _ her _ as she opened them one by one. Sure, her peers still made idle chatter in the background, but she felt pressured to act as if she was happy about all the presents she received. Don't get her wrong, she's ecstatic that her loved ones thought of getting her a gift for her special day, but some of the presents were just downright silly.

The first gift she opened was apparently from Leonie—it was a set of new curtains, imprinted with geometric shapes and patterns on them. Lysithea  _ adored _ it, because she vaguely remembers the time she was ranting to Leonie about how the fabric of her curtains were getting more worn out because of overusing them too much; and the short-haired female getting her this gift meant that she actually listened to her.

The second one she opened was this awfully big blue box with ornate golden linings around the center—which was filled to the brim with cupcakes and an assortment of tea. She had learned after a few moments of gaping at the design that it was Dimitri and Dedue who got her this gift. They were rendered unable to attend because the both of them were stranded in their individual dorm rooms, a heap of deadlines threatening their academic standing. She didn't mind, and frankly, she just hoped the two of them were doing okay.

Third gift she received was from Edelgard  _ and _ Hubert (Lysithea only knew Hubert because they were both Chemical Engineering majors). It was a Chemistry spice rack set! It had faux test tubes, Erlenmeyer flasks, and all kinds of containers for her kitchen necessities. She's been meaning to buy this set for a while now, too, which made it all the more convenient! After she sets the gift aside, Edelgard muttered an apology because Hubert was also unable to attend the celebration, primarily because he was out of town with both Petra and Dorothea.

Linhardt's gift was next. It wasn't anything special—just a journal notebook with stationary highlighters. Still, she loved it, and she thanked Linhardt for it.

Next, was Ignatz; who had showcased a painting he had done of Lysithea, framed and glossed to absolute perfection. She almost punched Ignatz right then and there for nearly making her cry because of his effort—but the others were able to calm her down.

Sweet, baby Ashe gave Lysithea a glass vase that had intricate rose patterns on its side, delicate and fragile, and it came with a card that Ashe personally wrote himself; hastily whispering to Lysithea that she should only read it once she was alone. She obliged, of course, much to the ever-curious Claude's dismay.

It all started going downhill from there.

Annette and Flayn performed a little skit they called “Lysithea's Day Off” which went on for around twenty minutes; portraying Lysithea as some kind of pastry binge-eating monster. Birthday girl wasn't amused, though, and Annette and Flayn spent the rest of their performance time apologizing to Lysithea by offering her “quality time” coupons that she could redeem whenever she wanted (not that she was planning to; but it was endearing).

Caspar and Raphael apparently joined forces and bought Lysithea, quote unquote, _the_ _best present ever!_ They had nearly crushed her when the two went over to give her a hug, it took both Claude and Edelgard to gently pry them away from the birthday girl. The gift in question was.. a trophy. Inscribed with the words “Lysithea von Ordelia: Worst Dressed for Christmas Party 2019.”

She appreciated the thought (truth be told, she loved the trophy more than she let on)—but her living room shelves were already filled with her medals, awards, and certificates; maybe she can find a place for it inside her room.

Mercedes gave her a book that she claimed was filled with tips and tricks on how to successfully avoid ghosts and other similar spirits. Everyone had gotten a kick out of that one—because Lysithea was stuttering out excuses on why she didn't need the book because she wasn't  _ scared _ of ghosts! She was only a little cautious at night—especially when she was alone, which was completely valid and acceptable!

Someone blew in her ear as she was stumbling on reasons, however, soon sending her shrieking because of shock. That someone was none other than Hilda—Lysithea had to hide herself under her pillows for a while to shut out the erupting laughter of her peers.

The next present was from Felix (and apparently Ingrid as well, but she was nowhere to be found). Upon opening it, everyone gushed about how Felix must have felt embarrassed retrieving it from the store he got it from—but he shut those down by calling them all idiots, soon taking his gift from Lysithea and showcasing its features.

It was a lipstick—the shade was perfect for Lysithea's skin. His exact words were  _ “Her lips dry up during winter. And she's scared to go out at night—when you twist the body open, it's actually a pocket knife disguised as a lipstick.” _

While others found his gift practical (and it actually left a few of them wondering why he knew that Lysithea's lips were dry during the cold season), the white-haired female wasn't exactly excited to put a pocket knife lipstick close to her face.

Sylvain's gift was a customized calling card with the words “Lysithea von Ordelia: Dark Magic Specialist” and as well as her email and number engraved on it. She was left speechless during that one, and she actually wasn't the only one with confusion written all over her face. But none of them bothered to bring it up, soon urging Lysithea to carry on with the gift-opening.

Hilda and Marianne's gift was next. While she was ripping open the wrapper, Marianne hastily tells her that Hilda was shopping alone when she got her this; claiming that the bluenette had absolutely nothing to do with Hilda's decision.

Lysithea had never been that flustered before.

It was a  _ swimsuit. _ A purple one—with violet hearts on the upper part. Almost everyone in the room looked away with red across their cheeks; and Hilda was the only one with a proud grin on her face.  _ “For the summer season,” _ the pinkette claimed.

Needless to say, they moved on from that present fairly quickly.

Bernadetta's present came as a surprise to many of them, because it was actually pretty.. normal. After seeing a series of strange gifts from their friends, it was quite refreshing to see her gift. It was a few medieval fantasy novels with hard covers—upon seeing it, Lysithea sends the recluse a small smile and a thank you, making Bernadetta run towards the kitchen for some reason.

Anyway.

Lorenz and Ferdinand's gift was up next. The only word that comes to mind whenever Lysithea remembers what the two of them got her was.. astonishment, for lack of a better term. They had gotten her the same exact vest that the two of them were wearing now; except hers was rose gold and it was made of (quotes Lorenz) the most  _ exquisite _ silk that the two of them found.

If they had given this to her without her knowing that the two of them had matching ones, she would actually be pretty thrilled about it.

Wordlessly, they all trudge on to Claude's present for her; which ended up being a necklace. To say that Lysithea loved it was an understatement—because it was just downright beautiful to look at. Gold chain (she hoped it was hypoallergenic), and a lily pendant; she had to take a quick moment to give Claude a well-deserved hug.

Last on the table was a paper bag with a small bottle and a medium velvet box; tied neatly by a black ribbon. During this part, all eyes were on her, staring at her expectantly as her fingers slowly untwine the piece of fabric rope. Upon opening the crimson box, she was greeted by the sight of a black fountain pen with gold nibs; its barrel was marked with her initials, an intricately drawn lily by the side of the letter "L."

The small bottle was filled with violet ink—ink that was specifically for the Platinum 3776 Century fountain pen.

Her eyes widen upon realization—swallowing the lump in her throat. This pen was.. expensive, to thread lightly, and in all honesty, she wasn't sure if she was worth the price and the trouble.

Upon learning that it was Cyril who gave her the overly expensive (but appreciated, nonetheless) fountain pen, she could only muster out a weak but genuine “thank you.”

After that segment, Lysithea couldn't really focus on what was happening anymore. There were games? And then they sang her happy birthday; she was also pretty sure that they ate all the food that they brought at her place, and they helped clean the mess they caused as well.

It was 10:30 in the evening when Lysithea started to regain her senses. And by that time, her friends were slowly filing out of her dorm, bidding her farewell and final early birthday wishes. She could feel her limbs getting even more worn out as she said goodbye to all of them one by one.

She hears the reassuring click of her door closing behind her. A sigh escapes her lips. She was glad she made it out of that party alive, even though she was lost in a daze for the majority of the time. 

She leans against her wooden door, back pressed softly on the oak; Lysithea feels her phone vibrating soundlessly inside the pockets of her jeans, opting to ignore it for a while just so she can grasp a few minutes of peace.

She taps on her screen after a while. It lights up—a message on her screen taunting her as it flashed inside her head.

_ Cyril from Trig/Geom/Phy _ _ : _

_ Rooftop? _

**_Read 10:42PM, February 14, 2020_ **

For a moment, she lets the exhaustion in her limbs settle in, gradually worsening the more steps she took up the stairs to their dorm building's rooftop.

Lysithea von Ordelia was known to never back down from challenges; but maybe it's because she's never met her match before him.

* * *

The leftover winter breeze blows Lysithea's hair behind her as soon as she swings the door to the rooftop open. She could feel her heart pulsing rapidly against her ribcage; it was as brisk as the gust of wind that surrounded the area.

She sees Cyril leaning on the rail at the far left corner of the rooftop, the ends of his dark grey scarf getting blown to the side.

Steadily, she forces her legs to move forward, the soles of her flats lightly colliding with the cement. She feels her nerves growing out of control the closer she got to Cyril, her subconscious whispering inside her head to  _ turn back— _ turn away. Turn away before she begins basking in his warmth again, before she gets reminded of all the reasons why she started liking him in the first place. Turn away before she said something stupid.

But, alas, things have never really gone her way.

“Hey. Took ya long enough.” Lysithea lowers her head on instinct after Cyril finishes speaking; her hands balling up to form fists inside her coat's pockets.

The stars were undeniably pretty tonight. Maybe Lysithea can fixate on that for now.

The brunette motions for Lysithea to stand next to him. For the first time in nearly a month—Lysithea locked eyes with him; it was enough to soothe his nerves for the time-being, a satisfied smile falling on his lips. Lysithea does what she was told, silently walking up right next to him, letting her arms hang from the railings as she leaned on them comfortably. They both get engulfed by comfortable silence for a short while; calmly staring at the bustling city life from above the building.

It was Cyril who broke the unnerving silence.

“Did you have fun today?”

She only nods timidly as a response.

“It's okay if you still don't want to talk to me—just wanted to tell you something. You can leave right after.” The male says, his shoulders relaxing little by little. Fiddling with the collar of his dress shirt, he opens his mouth to speak. “Don't want to waste your time again, or something.”

Lysithea wanted to desperately tell him that he could never waste her time—but she lets his bittersweet chuckle engulf the atmosphere.

“I'm not gonna lie, I really don't know what I did. I've been trying to think of reasons on why exactly you've been avoiding me, but..” He masks his distress by chuckling again. “Yeah, basically. I think I'm just rambling at this point—but I just really miss you, ya know?”

The female lets her eyes flutter close.

“Don't know if you've noticed, but you started smiling less, and I just.. Well,” He pauses once more; soon raising his head to just look at the night sky. “I'm—I'm really sorry, Lysi. I know apologizing about this probably wo—”

It was Lysithea's turn to let out a bitter chuckle.

“You didn't do anything wrong.” Her voice comes out as a mere whisper; but it was loud enough for Cyril to understand what she was saying, his face soon getting riddled with confusion. “Really—you're.. Well, you've been perfect, Cyril, so you really shouldn't apologize.”

_ Turn back. Turn away before you say something stupid. _

“Look,” She lets out a deep breath. “I don't know if you'd still want to be friends with me after I tell you this—but it's been eating me alive, you know? I don't think I've gotten a wink of sleep for the past month.”

The brunette urges her to continue.

“I know we're friends—and frankly, I'm really happy we are! You're very kind and patient and generous—and, well, you get the gist. I just..”

_ Stop it. This is irrational. _

Fighting away the phrase that had been echoing inside Lysithea's head for  _ weeks _ proved to be somewhat easier now that she was alongside Cyril. She braces herself for what she was about to admit; turning her head away to the side as she rubs her palms together for warmth.

All she could think of as she prepared herself was how close she was to Cyril in this particular moment. He was tangible—real. He was within reach; she could hold his hand and hug him close, she could run her hands through his hair, she could cup his cheeks with her palms. He was so  _ painstakingly _ close that she felt like she could reach out to him and let the world fall away.

But if she did all of those things, would he want to stay?

_ He wouldn't. _

“I've liked you for a while. I know it's bad because we're close friends, and I  _ know _ you don't see me that way, so I distanced myself.” She could feel hot tears cascading down her porcelain cheeks. “I just.. tried to phase my feelings out. I  _ know _ it's unfair of me to take advantage of your friendship. So, if you, uh, want to leave now—I understand. I'm just going to close my eyes and keep my mouth shut so you can walk away in peace!” And true to her word, her eyes close tightly, her lips pursing together to form a thin line.

Her world stops spinning momentarily; and it was getting harder to grasp a sense of clarity with each passing second.  _ Deep breaths. _ She tries her hardest to compose her steady breathing.  _ Take deep breaths, Lysithea, it's okay. _ She clings onto the small voice in her head for dear life, reassuring herself that even if she messed up by telling him, it was going to be okay. It had to be.

Cyril laughs light-heartedly, almost appearing inaudible, but it's enough to make her world tilt right back on its axis, turning again at a much steadier pace; Leaving her confused.

“You know, I don't really like winter.”

She blinks twice, letting her eyes remain open this time.

“I also don't like it when people do my work for me—and I find it really annoying whenever people disrupt my naps.”

He unwraps his scarf from around his neck, turning to the side so his body would be facing Lysithea. Reluctantly, he places the scarf over the female's head, soon tucking it neatly around her neck.

“I don't like feeling like an outsider. I also don't like dishonest people—” He smiles at her softly. “Bottomline is, I really don't like a lot of things.”

She readies herself for the woes of heartache, her tears still dripping down little by little from the corners of her optics. Cyril only rolls his eyes endearingly, soon raising his left hand, reaching out to rid her flushed cheeks of the apparent tear-stains on them.

“But I like you, Lysithea, and I don't think I can ever dislike  _ you _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the lengthiest chapter so far—i tried to fit everything in!
> 
> lo and behold—the idiots finally confessed !! owo just a couple more chapters after this ~
> 
> as always, i hope you enjoyed! <3


	9. i think you'll stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of their first Christmas party, in Lysithea's perspective.
> 
> and
> 
> A long-overdue first date.

**Christmas 2018**

_ She wasn't very fun at parties. _

_ That much, she knew. Lysithea knew how to hold conversations and how to initiate them, because she's never really had a problem with doing so—but parties were usually so.. childish. Party hats, cups filled with vodka-spiked juices, incessant beats of the ever-annoying, ever-loud music, and other worldly fun that she wasn't used to participating in. She's always tried to be mature; because being one of the youngest students in their year proved to be a challenging role, and she didn't want to admit it, but the struggle to be on equal footing with them seemed to grow harder with each passing day. _

_ “You look awfully glum, Lysithea.” Lorenz Hellman Gloucester takes a seat directly across from the female, her eyes immediately narrowing into slits as she hikes up one brow questioningly. Ferdinand von Aegir follows behind the violet-haired male suit, a crown of flowers wrapped around his neck like a choker. She was about to ask him about it—but as soon as the smell of tequila wafts through the air around them, she decides against it. _

_ “Lorenz, Ferdinand.” She nods in acknowledgement at the two of them, crossing her legs. She momentarily lets her eyes scan the aforementioned two, looking for signs of either exhaustion, or intoxication. The lights were too dim for her to see them clearly; however, based on the subtle scruffiness of the former male's hair, and the wide-spread blush on the latter one's cheeks—she understood vaguely then that maybe the two of them had one too many drinks. _

_ “Is this your first party here in GMSU?” Ferdinand gawks at her, a friendly smile settled onto his seemingly pale lips. Lysithea was about to respond to his question, but Lorenz suddenly interjected, letting out a small chortle in the process. “Yes, it's her first party.” _

_ Something inside the female snaps, deciding that however unwell the two gentlemen may be, she should still speak out her mind nevertheless. _

_ “He was asking me, if I recall correctly.” Annoyed, she takes a sip from her cranberry juice, her grip on her plastic cup tightening ever so slightly as she stares at the two of them. “And—yes, it actually is. I wasn't very interested to attend parties during my first year here.” Lysithea desperately wants to say that up until now, she still didn't see the appeal of it all; just sweaty bodies dancing around a place and singing along to music, shouting instead of talking because of the booming sound from the speakers. _

_ It felt very hectic. _

_ “That's unfortunate. Hilda and Sylvain throw the best parties, if I do say so myself.” von Aegir takes a sip from his glass, his lingering smile never once wavering. She watches the two of them intently, debating on whether or not she should reply to Ferdinand's bland response, but as always—Lorenz cuts her off from her trail of thought. _

_ “Would you like me to get you another drink?” _

_ She rolls her eyes. Leaning back on the sofa, she lets her fingers tug lightly on the ends of her hair, trying her hardest to conceal the snarl growing evident on her expression. Lysithea wants to desperately say ‘I can do it myself—stop treating me like a child,’ but she forbids herself from doing so, afraid that the two of them would catch on about her unusual nervousness. _

_ “No. I can do that myself.” _

_ Unknowingly, she feels her nerves gradually settling down the longer Lorenz and Ferdinand stayed alongside her, sensing the loneliness she felt habitually dissipating slowly. The ghost of a smile slips out, taking in a deep breath as she watches Lorenz and Ferdinand engage in a pathetic attempt of what seems to be a conversation. _

_ A shiver runs down her spine—her body stiffening lightly as she feels a pair of eyes glued intently on her. She wraps her arms around herself after she sets her cup down on the table in front of her; rubbing her arms sheepishly as she persuades herself to calm down—because the pair of eyes most likely staring at her probably didn't belong to some kind of ghost or evil spirit. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.  _

_ She entertains her own curiosity, soon turning to the right side of the room, glancing at two distinct individuals that she couldn't really see clearly because of the haze present in her mind. _

_ She was starting to feel fatigued. _

_ But she shakes her head; focusing intently on.. Claude? Was that Claude? It probably was—seeing as she could see his iconic loose side braid even from afar. He had a drink on his right hand, an oh-so-charming grin gracing his lips; his left arm was draped across someone's shoulders—a boy. He was wearing this peculiar sweater with a reindeer print on the front—with small Christmas lights surrounding the antlers of the faux deer. He had wavy brown hair, piercing red pupils, and a bandaid on his forehead; and if she didn't know any better, she'd assume that the male was Claude's relative, judging by how homely the two of them looked. But the boy in question looked particularly disinterested in whatever Claude was saying—which Lysithea could somehow sympathize with. _

_ She was glad she wasn't the only one not enjoying the party. _

_ She pries her optics away from him as soon as she sees him nudging off Claude's arm around his shoulder—where that boy went, she'd never know, all because she felt silly for staring at someone she wasn't acquainted with, let alone someone she didn't even know the name of. _

_ “We'll be on our way—the dance contest is about to start.” Ferdinand hiccups in between words, his eyes radiating a glint of effervescence, subtle and magnetic in its own right. Lorenz stands up, offering a hand to his friend to assist him in standing up. _

_ If Lysithea secretly wanted to call out to them and ask them to stay for a little while longer, then she'd never tell anyone. _

_ The two of them walk further away from the female, stumbling, dragging their feet; the two were laughing, but she never heard them, she never heard anything after that—shutting off her system momentarily to dwell in her emotions. _

_ The volume of the ever-annoying, ever-loud music increases drastically, Christmas-themed music soon playing unironically in the background—it goes on like that for a while. Although in trance, she could feel herself operating on autopilot, still managing to muster out idle chatter and small chuckles. _

_ Once she comes back to her senses, she hears a popular holiday song playing faintly, soon shifting her eyes to the middle of the room where she sees the boy from earlier dancing to the beat of the music in front of everyone in the party. _

_ For the first time that night—she laughs genuinely. _

* * *

“Ready to go?”

It's been a week ever since Cyril's confession.

Now, the two of them found themselves going back to how they used to be. Except things felt slightly different now that their feelings were out in the open. They seemed calmer—softer, even; if that was even possible—than usual, a lingering comfort surrounding the atmosphere.

Before responding, he stares at Lysithea for a quick moment; she was wearing a frilly, ivory turtleneck, with thick threads and a delicate pattern knitted on the front. She matched it with light grey, checkered pants—a black belt situated in between the loops on the waist-band of the pants. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail; a periwinkle scrunchie catching his eye almost immediately.

His mood lightens up as soon as he sees her.

“Yeah.” He chirps happily, stuffing his left hand inside his denim jacket's pocket, soon offering his right hand for Lysithea to take. The female obliges, hesitantly slipping in her hand inside his, faking a cough to distract herself from the gnawing excitement swirling inside her system. Cyril lets himself chuckle in amusement, giving her hand a light squeeze.

On the night of Lysithea's surprise birthday party, shortly after the pair sorted things out between the two of them, they had spent the night watching a movie in silence; drifting off to sleep, cuddling under one comforter inside the white-haired female's living room. They had talked things out the morning after; both very much embarrassed and shy in light of recent events. Cyril could never forget how Lysithea looked like when she was stuttering out responses that day, and Lysithea could never get over the fact that Cyril looked even  _ more _ cute with pink lightly dusting his cheeks.

Cyril had asked her out on a date that day. 

“So, where are we going?” The pink-eyed female asks him curiously, matching her pace to his just so they could walk side by side. They reach the exit of the university's dorm building, venturing out in unison. 

“Well, an old friend of mine  _ did _ show me great date spots in town—I figured I should take you there.”

Right then and there, Lysithea could feel her heart practically leaping out from her chest, but she wasn't going to tell him that yet.

They kick off their first date with gentle smiles; heading off into the park they went to a few months ago. Upon arriving, they were greeted by the sight of more flower patches—the snow on the ground was no longer thick enough to cover the entire vicinity. Steadily, Cyril makes his way to rent out bicycles again, and as soon as Lysithea sees the bicycle he rented out, she could only huff and gape at him out of embarrassment.

It was a tandem bicycle—a yellow one. The basket in front had an assortment of flowers in them, but the white lilies stood out the most. But be that as it may; it took Cyril a while to convince Lysithea to ride the bike.

They spent an hour or so just passing people by with a mix of both humiliation and reluctant joy evident on their facial expressions, with matching helmets atop their head.

The next hour, they hastily went to the Aquarium from before, recreating the past pictures they took right before getting into the actual attractions in the place. Lysithea caught a glimpse of the picture inside Cyril's wallet, too—and needless to say, she was rendered unable to speak during their photo ops due to the heavy blush on her cheeks.

Inside the Aquarium, the deep blue hues of the water inside shimmered under the dim lights of the place, accentuating the glowing marine life inside the huge glass containers. A variety of aquatic creatures were there—ranging from Caledonian Gars to even  _ the _ Fodlandy; which the both of them knew because of the fish enthusiast Flayn from Religious Studies. It had taken a lot out of Lysithea not to gush out loud about the information on the display cards in front of each attraction.

It didn't help that Cyril kept on telling her silly and annoying pick-up lines that he most definitely got from Sylvain.

_ “If you were a fish—you'd definitely be a Goddess Messenger, Lysithea!” _

_ “..Are you seriously comparing me to a fish right now?” _

He knew then that he should never trust Sylvain with things like these.

When they were done taking in the Aquarium in all its gloriousness, they moved on to their coffee shop, walking inside the doors hand-in-hand. The bell chimes familiarly; soothing their nerves almost instantly the moment they were finally seated on the table they usually frequented in. The crown molding in the place was embellished with colorful, artificial flowers, a few decorative ornaments hung neatly on the wall. There were fairy lights sprawled right across the walls; and the music that played idly in the background felt all-too fitting for the upcoming season.

Spring was just right around the corner.

Their mealtime went by faster than they wanted it to be, soon finding themselves full from the food and exhausted by all the walking; the bouquet of lilies from the park from earlier was laid inside Lysithea's bag neatly, the petals shining brighter than ever under the dim lights of the café. It was around three-thirty in the afternoon when Cyril asked Lysithea to come with him to their last spot—utterly confusing the female especially since she couldn't really recall her telling him about a fourth date spot from their last venture.

The ride to the place was particularly long; but they weren't complaining. They were able to converse in silence inside the comforts of the cab, but in all honesty, their close proximity flustered the both of them more than they'd care to admit.

By four in the afternoon, they were seated on a blanket that Cyril pulled out from his backpack, staring out on the sandy shores of Fódlan's beach.

The sun was beginning to swim down the horizon, its hues darkening ever so slightly; it urges the two of them to inch closer to the other, nurturing the warmth that had slowly taken over the previously cold atmosphere brought by the leftover winter breeze.

Lysithea could feel the weight of the world down on her shoulders again.

“This—this is a date, right—?” She stutters out nervously, her head blanking out as her companion only musters out a curt nod, hiking up a curious brow at her sudden disorientation.

“Are you okay?” He blinks. “You seem a little disheartened.”

“I'm alright.” She clears her throat, soon hugging her knees close to her chest, burying the lower half of her face in them as she continues to stare out into the sea. She lets out a distressed sigh. “I—I don't want to lead you on, you know? I mean, I know I like you, and—”

It was now Cyril's turn to sigh.

“I'm not in a rush, Lysithea.” He flicks her forehead endearingly, his head shaking subsequently. “It's okay if you're not ready for a relationship—or whatever they call it.”

_ I really don't deserve her. _

Then, he smiles the same way he usually does: Genuinely. Lightly. Comfortingly. She gapes in awe at him, the reflection of the eventide reaching her pink optics as she watches him stare at something from afar; his grin never once faltering, even for a second. She leans backwards, her legs soon returning to their original position, her hand soon making its way to hold Cyril's.

She squeezes his hand in hers, letting her head fall on his shoulders as her free hand reaches up to point at the nearby shore.

That moment, Lysithea had come to a decision.

“I used to have siblings.” Her eyes light up slowly. “One of them, her name was Amalthea, loved to swim; and whenever we went to the beach during the summer..”

It went on like that for the rest of the night; her hand intertwined with Cyril's own, a specific warmth encapsulating her entire being as she told him stories of her childhood—of her siblings. Stories that she couldn't tell anyone else before, in fear of them leaving her because she was being overly dramatic; for still clinging onto the bittersweet memories from so long ago.

And he stayed.

Through the springtime, the summer, the next autumn, and the next winter.

Days gradually turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into several blissful years—and he stayed, still, with his hand holding hers as tight as it could, with the same grin on his lips, and the same love and concern he harbored for her—and somehow, Lysithea knew, that however scared she might feel of him slipping away from her grasp, he wouldn't.


	10. bittersweet new memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harsh memories and better beginnings.

It was spring when the two of them found themselves inside their classroom; silent next to each other, sharing a pair of earphones as the low humming of Lysithea's favorite song rang soundly inside their heads, a sense of calm and content secluding the two of them.

It was the last study hall of the semester; after today, it would be spring break, and the students will finally be able to relish the momentary freedom that they were graciously given by the University's admin. For Hilda, it meant going to beaches with her girlfriend, Marianne, and partying until her body dropped to the sand, forcing the bluenette to drag her inside their hotel room. For Dorothea, it meant heading to the Mittelfrank studio and spending the rest of her break rehearsing her lines for her upcoming opera this winter, accompanied by Petra—because unlike the most of their peers, Petra didn't come home to Brigid during spring break, because she enjoyed seeing the blossoming flowers that Fódlan had to offer. For Felix, it meant another break spent alone inside the comforts of his dorm, solemn but productive, all the same, even though Sylvain and Ingrid would most definitely be bugging him the entire time.

For Lysithea, it meant walking along the streets of Fódlan, strolling pass the festival preparations and the ever-increasing amount of mini-booths, basking in the sound of the people trying to invite the masses to buy from their quaint shops. It meant going home alone to her lonely, lonely dorm.

“Can I borrow your green highlighter?” Cyril whispers to Lysithea quietly, his eyes plastered on the passage he was currently reading. She nods curtly, hand soon making its way to her pencil case to reach the said highlighter. Their fingers brush together lightly, and the subtle surge of electricity surprises the both of them, but neither of them acknowledge it aloud.

Lysithea has never liked spring all that much. The lilies were enticing, and the weather was okay, but it had reminded her of the bitter memories; for the most part, they were happy ones, however, the fact that they were only memories now always made her sigh heavily in secret.

Graduation was also coming up—in a little over a year, she'd be traversing away from Garreg Mach State University.

She wasn't a fan of the thought.

“Something the matter?” She hears him mumble again, his tone soft and serene, not demanding. Lysithea shrugs and then she slumps in her seat, her eyes scanning the rest of the students in the rows of the room.

“Can't believe it's spring break already.” She directs her gaze to the professor in front. Professor Byleth. She was seated idly on her chair, her focus monopolized by the thousands and thousands of papers that she was grading at the moment, the same, dull pupils rechecking every word of the students' answers. Professor Byleth didn't like noise, Lysithea reminds herself, soon inching closer to Cyril just so she was able to speak in a lower volume.

“Any plans?” The male asks her again, an eyebrow hiked up as he highlighted a few terms in his textbook.

“Advanced reading, maybe.” Disgracefully, she groans, soon receiving a low shush from the professor herself. She inwardly slaps herself for that.

“Sounds boring.” Cyril finally looks up from his book; and as soon as his crimson irises meet her pale, pink ones, she throws away the words in her head, forgetting to reply to him altogether as he lets out a blissful chuckle, flicking her forehead endearingly, just as he always did.

Spring for Cyril meant a lot of things.

“How about you?” The female manages to croak out; a heavy blush on her cheeks as she fakes a cough soon after. She shifts in her seat, patting her backpack beside her reassuringly. Cold. The air-conditioner was unusually colder today. “Any plans?”

For Cyril, it meant going home to Dagda and visiting Shamir and Catherine. It meant getting on a plane and flying for seven hours straight, admiring the view from the window of the aircraft, quietly humming the beginning of his favorite song under his breath to pass the time. It meant eating bad airplane food. It meant seeing the endless trees; dark, tall, and green. It meant feeling the humid air surround the depths of his skin, because it rained in Dagda a lot, especially during spring, but he didn't mind, he liked it anyway. Sure, the flowers in bloom were always soaked by the rain, but it was okay; still, they were magnificent in their own right.

“Just going home—visiting my family.” Family. He loved calling them that. It slipped off his tongue naturally, belongingness and comfort shrouding the entirety of his being. Shamir and Catherine were family—he had them when he needed them, even though the two were never really good at showing it. In their own, quirky ways, they made Cyril feel at home. “I'll probably be back here in about four days. Still haven't scheduled a flight, though.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Almyra?”

“Nah, Dagda.”

He smiles after that.

They get encapsulated in comfortable silence. They hear the next song from their earbuds gradually speeding up, the peak of the chorus nearing with each second that passed. Cyril could see the faint tapping of Lysithea's finger atop the wooden table, and he fawns, soon facing forward and laying his hand on top of hers to sustain the warmth. She used to get flustered every time he did this, but she had gotten used to it now; even going as far as initiating the hand-holding occasionally because his hands were colder than hers, and the chill that runs down her spine whenever their fingers were entwined was greatly adored by Lysithea.

Spring meant everything to Cyril, but nothing to Lysithea.

For Lysithea, it meant remembering harsh memories and meeting even harsher beginnings. It meant buying lilies from the store, putting them inside vases, watering them everyday until they inevitably wilt because of her overwatering. It meant lighting up candles and wondering about what her siblings would be doing now if they were alive—it meant clutching her heart as tight as she could in hopes of ridding her chest of the ever-suffocating guilt.

“You want to come with me?” He blinks curiously, sliding over the highlighter from earlier towards her side of the table. “To Dagda, I mean. We have a guest room at home—and Shamir's real nice.”

For Cyril, it meant sleeping in his old room until five in the afternoon. It meant helping around the house, sweeping the floor, washing the dishes, but never baking afternoon treats because he was horrible at that. It meant thinking about what to buy from the market because Shamir and Catherine's anniversary occurred during spring, and he figured fixing them up with a lovely dinner would somehow compensate for the kindness the two of them voluntarily provided him with over the years.

Lysithea smiles.

The bell from outside the hallways reverberate inside the hollow room. Students slowly file out one by one—but the two of them stay seated.

“Sure. It wouldn't hurt spending spring break away from my dorm.”

She knew then, and she'd never forget. Spring was nothing to Lysithea—but Cyril was everything to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy moly—i finally finished! sorry about the delay; school's been slightly hectic for me.
> 
> honestly, this wasn't how i expected this story to turn out, but i love it nevertheless! i have such a soft spot for these two, and their support scenes in the game were just too damn adorable that i couldn't hep myself from writing about them.
> 
> i enjoyed writing this 'fic a lot—and hopefully you guys enjoyed reading it as well!
> 
> as always, thank you so much for your support! <3


End file.
